Tensed, just one week, he nearly lost it all, he was this close, this close! So get your shit together or you might as well kiss this case good bye and watch the court nail you instead of the tyrant. Pondering, his cigar was fading with every puff as it gave an ember glow, ashes of what it used to be, brown with a more gold touch from a far, the suit reconciled fashionably with his cigar’s texture and furnished outline, the black curved raised chair with grey like cushioned but cushions. Despite being a work day, he was not in the mood of going by the book, so he did what he does when his under pressure, tension, or is fixed under someone’s grip, which in his case he was under both so he had every right to do as he pleased to relieve this overwhelming mental baggage. He smoked one cigar till it was in ashes, the scent of smoke and it’s density filled the room, but still no idea, no thoughts, no tips on just how he could flip this sinking ship to his favor. So the inspector, Mr. Zod,

From his father, to the father of his father and the father to the father of his father…since time memorial the curse was handed down, imprinted in their blood and from the generation to the next it was passed. Living in mud huts, some the more grassed thatched huts handed down from millennials, accustomed to the notion set from conception that this was their life this was what it will ever be, imprisoned in the heavy shackles of poverty, a curse inevitable to all of their kin. Life revolving around taking care of cattle, farming wild fruits and natural edible vegetables, marriage, circumcision, all summarize under one roof, tradition it was what they had that truly belonged to them. Tradition was their compass, their map, the line that defines actions as good or bad, the judgement to all those who defied the customs and which spoke of the consequences. Yet amidst this enriched traditional inhabitance was a man whose luck outshone the others in the community, lucky to be baptized in

Adopted from the ancient British law system, passed and instituted in almost every court located under the satellite, the symbol that represents justice, fairness it’s also implicated as, Lady Justice holding the Scales of Justice. It’s believed that this symbol unifies the court and ensures that every verdict passed across is truly by this symbol. But in some situations this scale is sometimes paused, held back, or muted if it’s preferable, and at that point the verdict may not be by the scales of justice but by that of man, selfish, greedy, and inconsiderate man. Unlike other court adjournments where there was no wig, this time the judge appeared with a wig, the bench wig it’s called, this meant business and in his black gown and white collar, this was no ordinary case, well not anymore. After the plaintiff, Mr. Zod Kong, and his attorney, Mr. Tim, implicated the act of article 42B, the court was in dilemma. They had come to a verdict that the defendant was innocent and the plainti

Murder, that’s at least 50 years that’s first degree, third degree that’s around 40 years so doing the math that’s 90 years, adding public harm and government property destruction that’s around 5 million fine and 20 years jail time, so judging by the looks that’s 100+ years jail time. That was the verdict awaiting the new third party, Mr. Ben, in court that daunting day. Hell started when he step foot on his mother soil, and now it was just getting worse. Alone, with no attorney to stand up to him he sat on the assigned bench alone, cuffed, wrists aching, back sore as of the constant forward lean back at the station, in the cruiser, and here in court, but his physical problems were the least of his troubles. Dazed and confused like a shark flipped to it’s belly in subconscious mind still trying to draw the dots of the caging in barbed wires that were fatal to rip him to shreds, Ben just glared at the ceiling of the court, studied the embroidery of the judge’s bench, the eye catching

No calls, no emails, not even a f*****g whisper in the air of just what the hell happened, it was just…silence… all communications were cut. Sure at this point they all drew to conclusions, he bailed on them, no he back stabbed them, no probably his sick or there is some troubled delays, both pessimists and optimists clamped in groups of two’s and three’s enclosed in the boardroom meeting room although with no furniture just broken woodwork, rotten timber and wrapped tangled bundles of rusted binding wire. They gave ideas each based on their base of view and surprisingly was no idea was not possible all had a chance that maybe it was true, so they murmured, threw insults to those who rejected and praises to those who said aye, to spice up they went the old fashion way, the old tradition hand count, “all in favor raise your hands…”, but unfortunately it was all short of time wasting and a premature child play because the man of the hour walked in. He walks over dead skulls, a mighty s