The black worn robes are drawn taught across his wide chest, the threads strain and struggle to break free from the weight of his sweaty body. His white wiry beard hide his sweaty double chin, thin dry lips quirk up at the side unable to hide his glee. Deep wrinkles long settled into his face, each with their own stories. His cold grey eyes crinkled into thin slits, flicking from my ragged worn shoes back up to my face. His gaze is penetrating.
I have to crane my neck up just to see the judges face, my neck creaks with underuse like an old door falling off its hinges. He looks down on me with a deep scorn, he obviously thinks of me an inferior man just because I’m not a pompous English b*****d but just an Irish dog.
All of a sudden he’s raising
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Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Then the deafening snap of the gavel on the hard brown oak stand seals my fate. I feel my eyes flutter close, I never thought it would get this bad. My beating heart leaps into my throat choking me. My knees start to uncontrollably shake, they threaten to crumple, already giving up on me.
I force my head down, no one can see me like this… but the smell of an unforgiving stench of my body that fills my nostrils, I smell of a rotting beast in the sun. The once fitting clothes now drown me in material, the wrists can be easily broken like a mere twig. The dull ache in my stomach longs for anything. I, a once feared man is left a broken boy. How did this happen to me?
The room is getting smaller the walls are closing in on me. The humidity is suffocating, the dampness on my skin runs down forehead, my dry throat is closing up. Tick Tock.
A light breeze tickles the back of my neck sweeping through the court room, the beaming sun openly mocks me, it’s like the world is celebrating. An uneasy shiver comes over me like on those cold July mornings on Ellen’s farm. It feels like the ghosts of past Irish men are calling me, calling me to the