“My name is Zod Kong, chief inspector of south blue police station here in the south of Madagascar. Recently, there has been a fiery protest here at the docking stations and a lot has transpired. Unfortunately, many lives are lost, many sent to hospital and lots of public property damaged. However, I have done my research and find the people aren’t as guilty as they may be portrayed by other senior people I the government. They actually are the good guys and the menace behind this is…” Mr. Zod pauses as he thinks of how to fitly place and describe his second character. Cruel, no too gentle, devil, no too harsh, as he chooses and filters his vocabulary that puts the frame to his character, he nods and gasps gladly as he continues. “…their boss. They call him a tyrant, a man whose barbarism has fueled and lit the flame to this outraged and uncontrolled wild fire, Mr. Brian, is the man behind this. I have witnesses who will attest before a court of law and comply to stand trial against
Natured and hardened by the streets, woke up as a fake brother to a millionaire drug lord, ever since fond of wearing the more casual clothing like simple sweat pants, jeans, less suits and tuxedos, this occasion prompted him and circumstances forced him to wear the more office clothing. Powder blue, nah too loud, how about white, yah white will do. Evaluating the classic and expensive diverse options of cotton fabric shirts he settled for the white long sleeved shirt as he sensed it was more official. For the suit he went with the Britain taste, more of the similar classic grey suit but more heavy on the grey touch, and of course he couldn’t ruin this fashioned lineup by some whacky slacks that turns this respectable and desired attire into a more clown and more joking charade, so the man led by his taste in the classic Kingston fashion chose the fitting classic grey trousers matching with the suit, so eventually when the man stared in the body height mirror, man was fashionable exq
During the 80s do you know how such businesses were conducted, I mean the illegal banned businesses? Well, they covered it up with a fake business and it paid off because they were untraceable, a normal bakery you smile, suspect nothing, the hot aroma of freshly baked breads, the dinging of ovens as the muffins are brought out all oily and irresistible, clean business but behind those walls was a multimillion drug making business. So for the cops to catch up, they thought like how they did, instead of meeting up at the police station where they advertised themselves in blue uniform as corrupt, fat law enforcers, branding the red alert when they were within hearing. Tailoring, pubs, lodges, all these began springing up with anonymous owners under their names, new beginnings, fresh waitresses and waiters, and the crooks nearby were die hard alcoholics, so they tangled, mingled, blabbered everything not to be spoken of assuming they are desperate people in work overalls desperate to ear
Rosewood furnished but with a more strengthened oak embodiment and more equalizing mahogany to bring textile elasticity, at around 11 inches, a chest high shelf with adequate shelving lockers, an additional microphone it’s black cords out of man’s path as it strings down to the mixer and amplifier down the adjacent court clerk’s station. The judge’s bench spacious for flexible and easy movement with an even more comfortable movable armchair, in built panel video for necessary electronic evidence and a green covered book sized notebook on the judge’s table. Adjacently, at a risen level lower from the judge’s bench, opposite from the witnesses stand, some feet from the reporters bench, around 4 to 7 inch tables, with feet high shelves, additional pigeon holes, was the court clerk’s station. Hosting the optional mixer and amplifier, it also housed several electronic equipment including the obvious desktop computer and control console, a black covered bible was in sight used for it’s day
What if he did forget? But what if he was murdered? No he forgot, no he was murdered, these mind tormenting disputes wrangled trying to get a favor amongst the jury. So amongst them was an argumentative dispute on the matter of what truly happened to the deceased Mr. Peter, and worse was the war inside them as this too was sparking a revolt, murder or forgetfulness, it is one not both, the voices argued. As the spectators too brewed within their midst, the judge scribbled some notes as he also was seen torn between the two convincing theories so only one way to find out. “Mr. Tim please present more evidence to the jury and to the court to acclaim to the terms of your allegations to the defendant. Because it seems both are possible so if you have witnesses too, please may they step in the witness dock.” The judge retorted steadily as he glared at the attorney addressed who was caught slightly in shock because he wasn’t expecting such a response. But now that he has been given the
Odds doubled and worse, they were against him not with him, the first chance he was barely capable to keep up, it was the jury’s mercy and the judge’s side eye, that he was given the slight vacuum to refresh his allegations and make it more of his favor but instead…he made things worse much worse. The jury this time were convinced, the defendant was innocent, the judge though was doubtful of this he was certain the plaintiff’s attorney had evidence that just wasn’t convincing, remembering it was manipulated to be used against him so this time they had to go by the book. After five minutes of low tone discussion and the judge arranging his documents passed by the clerk, he banged the gauntlet twice till the spurt was silent and clearing his throat he raised his head and addressing the seated plaintiff and his attorney he opened up the court response.“Mr. Tim, it seems that perhaps the witnesses called upon are people who are unsure of themselves and are looking to get back to the de
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,
One died another grew in place, repeatedly day in and out, as the dawns and dusks elapsed so did the judgement of the case court near to see the length determination crosses to, to make his point in bold and seal the case having buried the defendant in his coffin. Just whose will power outgrows the other, if the defendant Goliath enough to stomp his plaintiff like a bug and finish it of with ease or will the giant slayer the plaintiff muscle his way and out wit the enemy in sight and bring death in a blistering swift maneuver. No more guessing, sure the suspense and tension is killing all in court but it’s time we got things by the book, the day finally dawned, July 20th, the day of reckoning. Quarter to 10, more accurately, 9:45 am, there and then the public entrance bust open flooding in the speculators of the awaited day for the case at hand in court. As press workers set their cameras at the edges of the far end of the walls of the court where they couldn’t interrupt the movement