Thursday, June 14, 2012

2. 20120614: race

He began to pace the space of my office with an undecipherable look upon his face, idly fingering the lace curtains as he passed them. As he continued to retrace his footsteps in my space, to and fro from place to place, he nonchalantly began to tell of the events that brought him.

He calmly displaced the memories from his mind unleashing them into the space. Within the place in which we two were confined he continued to pace; and as graceful fingers traced the ledges of the bookcase, he told the story of the woman for which he had pined.

With lacking detail he narrated the tale of the woman he wooed, chased, and embraced, but the mood of the account turned quickly around when he did recount his use of force she could not surmount, with which she was disgraced and debased.

His story continued with more horror to be found.

In sordid detail he described how her life was erased by smashing her face with a vase. All the while his true demeanor had changed, his cool composure completely effaced and a sinister smile spread wide across his face. It was then that I knew this man was completely deranged.

I had not braced myself for this certain turn of events and noticed my heart had since begun to race.

Unexpectedly, "Will you forgive me?" he asked.

I, just a lawyer and no man of the cloth, professed, "I fear my forgiveness cannot replace God's good grace."

With that response a moment of silence passed.

"What is it you want?" I broke the still, and asked as he continued to pace. "Representation in a case?"

"No, there is no evidence. There is no case. I made sure of it." Then, "Will you forgive me?" he asked again, his fingers slowly tracing the sill under the curtains of lace.

What is it he wanted if not to be acquitted for crimes he in fact did commit?

Stopping to pace, "Forgive me I've lied," he confessed, as he stood in place turning to look me in the face, his fingers still on the edge of the sill warmly embraced in sun.

"Will you forgive me?" he again asked and continued, "I never loved her. I hardly knew her," he paused, "and it wasn't a vase, but a flower pot much like this one."

To the list of other pieces inspired by random words.

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