VOTING POWER100.00%
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STEEM
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SBD
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To Date
2019/08/29 07:19:54
2019/08/29 07:19:54
| author | steemitboard |
| body | Congratulations @ninefoldrin! You received a personal award! <table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@ninefoldrin/birthday3.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 3 years!</td></tr></table> <sub>_You can view [your badges on your Steem Board](https://steemitboard.com/@ninefoldrin) and compare to others on the [Steem Ranking](https://steemitboard.com/ranking/index.php?name=ninefoldrin)_</sub> ###### [Vote for @Steemitboard as a witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1) to get one more award and increased upvotes! |
| json metadata | {"image":["https://steemitboard.com/img/notify.png"]} |
| parent author | ninefoldrin |
| parent permlink | a-tragedy-in-three-persons-original-short-story |
| permlink | steemitboard-notify-ninefoldrin-20190829t071956000z |
| title | |
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}2018/08/29 08:25:21
2018/08/29 08:25:21
| author | steemitboard |
| body | Congratulations @ninefoldrin! You have received a personal award! [](http://steemitboard.com/@ninefoldrin) 2 Years on Steemit <sub>_Click on the badge to view your Board of Honor._</sub> > Do you like [SteemitBoard's project](https://steemit.com/@steemitboard)? Then **[Vote for its witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1)** and **get one more award**! |
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}| author | ninefoldrin |
| body | Beautiful shots! |
| json metadata | {"tags":["photography"]} |
| parent author | edrivegom |
| parent permlink | moon-night-and-day |
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}ninefoldrinupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / a-tragedy-in-three-persons-original-short-story
ninefoldrinupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / a-tragedy-in-three-persons-original-short-story
| author | ninefoldrin |
| permlink | a-tragedy-in-three-persons-original-short-story |
| voter | ninefoldrin |
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}ninefoldrinpublished a new post: a-tragedy-in-three-persons-original-short-story
ninefoldrinpublished a new post: a-tragedy-in-three-persons-original-short-story
| author | ninefoldrin |
| body | <html> <h1><em><center>The Tragedy of Space</center></em></h1> <p> I met a girl one day. Her hair is gold; her face, a portrait; her laughter is like an angelic chorus. She is one of my best friends. Her name doesn’t matter, nor does my own. All that matters is the strength of our relationship and the love we express between ourselves. </p> <p> Now, I use the word “love” unexpected to you. Surely you think that I must have met the girl of my dreams and we now are in a romance, but I assure you, this is no storybook romance, and if this relationship ever reaches the point of romance then my future is damned and my reputation destroyed. This girl who has so captivated my attention and won my love is a mere eleven years old and I most certainly am not.</p> <p> There’s that word again: “love.” I say it often in relation to her. I do love her very dearly. I cannot describe it as the love between a father and a daughter, though I do take that role from time to time. I cannot describe it as the love between two friends, for that is inadequate for what we share. Though this relationship must certainly be called a friendship, the love between us is unlike that in any “normal” friendship. I have plenty of friends my own age and can say that I love many of them dearly, but this is a different kind of love. This love cannot be romance, either. Yes, I think she’s beautiful. I even think she’s attractive. But I might also describe someone like Brad Pitt as attractive and I certainly don’t want to share a bed with him nor, to be honest, any Hollywood actor or even actress. I do acknowledge this girl’s beauty, but I have no designs or intentions to sleep with her and if I ever do, then I submit myself to the jury and all just punishment that the law wills; but I do love her.</p> <p> Yes, love. Love. Love. Love. I keep coming back to that word. I want to see her. I want to hug her. I want to tell her how pretty she is. Does a father not do all these for his daughter? Does a friend not give similar treatment to friends? Why do her age and my lack of a blood relation dictate that this love must be a perverse sort?</p> <p><br></p> <p> I met a girl one day. Her eyes shine with life and beauty; her face, elven and perfect. I love her. We met online. Bored one day, I strolled around a somewhat popular site. I had previously used it as linguistic practice. Many of the users are from other countries and it was a great opportunity to practice second and third languages with native speakers. This one day, however, I noticed a young face amidst the list of streams. I clicked and began to talk.</p> <p> It was like fate. We connected really well right off the bat and talking together was easier than most any other stranger I meet. We don’t share much in common, but she has this life and joy about her that I can enjoy anything she enjoys just by exposure to her joy. She’s always happy, always laughing. When she’s sad, my heart breaks. When that smile dissolves and her eyes well up, the world around me collapses. She is the embodiment of happiness and should never cry, but that is not the kind of world we live in. Yet, she always bounces back swiftly. Out of the deepest sadness, she springs up like a fountain of happiness once more and I find myself just as happy and excited as her.</p> <p> Early on, I was made certain of my suspicions that some force greater than ourselves brought us together. It turned out that we shared a religion. As a very religious person, that comes as the most important thing. My heart filled with joy. Sure, she didn’t take our shared faith as seriously as myself, but neither did I when I was eleven. She had room to grow, but we shared beliefs and that was the most important thing. I thanked God that He had blessed me so.</p> <p><br></p> <p> I met a girl one day. We had grown fairly close after the passing of weeks and months. We exchanged various forms of contact information and took our conversations outside of that site infested with perverts and the “pure, chivalrous champions” that were even more problematic than the perverts at times. She told me where she lived. I told her where I live. Naturally, she lives across the country. This always happens. I find someone wonderful and they live too far away. Perhaps it’s for the best, though. If she lived near me, I’d meet her every day I could. It’d only be a matter of time before someone would come to the wrong conclusion and our friendship would be shattered by the incurably nosey.</p> <p> She sent me “selfies.” My goodness! That girl is gorgeous. “Those were the first selfies I’ve ever taken,” she told me. I’m not sure that I believe that. She must have a great future in photography if they truly were her first. I often wonder why she is friends with me, some old nobody. I bet there are people at her school that would do anything to call her friend, but I’ve never even been near her and we’re closer friends than the friends I have had since my own childhood and probably closer than she is with some of her friends, if not all of her friends. I don’t deserve her, yet I have her.</p> <p> I heard my phone chime one day and opened it up to check. My heart leaped for joy to see an email from her. She is such a wonderful girl. I sent her some “selfies” of my own; just because. She was kind. I half expected laughter. I’ve been told I’m attractive, but I’ve never seen that man in my mirror. Maybe I’m too hard on myself, but I don’t expect others to have anything positive to say about my looks, but this girl sure did. It warms my heart. She told me that I’m the friend she always wanted.</p> <p> “I’d love to meet you some day,” I told her. “Me too, she replied. “When I’m older I’ll come and visit you.” I loved that, but I couldn’t wait so long! I’d never longed to see a friend so dearly before in my life. So close we had grown, yet we’d never even been in the same city. I began to plan a trip to visit her. I could probably afford it, just barely. But then I came to the sad realization that it would not work. Her mother still didn’t know me. I wasn’t afraid to talk to her mother, but this girl wasn’t up to the idea of me talking to her parents. I thought, <em>if she only knew that I was kind, a friend, then she would see the benefits of this friendship. We could meet. We could get together. I could finally wrap my arms around her and whisper “I love you” in her ear.</em> Love. What a cruel and painful emotion.</p> <p> I met a girl one day. It seemed that we were destined to never meet. She would forever be apart from me. Again, it was probably for the best. There are ample email records that proved the merits of our relationship. Nothing could be misinterpreted from that. I had never crossed any boundaries of appropriateness, nor had she. We are friends. We are close. Still, whatever defense I may have would struggle under the weight of the accusations.</p> <p> I received an email from her. “Guess what? I have a boyfriend!” I have to say, I was a little jealous at first. Yes, I admit it. I was jealous that some silly boy had stolen her from me, but I imagine that’s the common feeling among fathers when their little girls find another male to love them. Again, I’ve never expected any form of romance from her, nor have I sought it out. She is eleven and I am not. I cannot see myself traveling that path of secrecy and questionable (at best) morality. I was happy that she had a boyfriend and hoped that he would continually make her happy.</p> <p><br></p> <p> I met a girl one day. She sent me an email. “Guess what?” I hadn’t a clue. “Come on, guess!” I threw out some obviously wrong ideas, “You’re going to mars! You just sailed around the world! You won the Nobel Prize!” “Wrong, wrong, and wrong.” I officially gave up this failed quiz. “I’m going on vacation in two weeks!” She seemed very happy. “That’s awesome. Where are you going?”</p> <p> I almost fell out of my chair as my heart exploded with emotion and I leaped for joy! Here? She was coming here? To my city? I never even knew that people took vacations here, but by some stroke of luck, her family was peculiar and wanted to come here for the three sights there were to see. “We have to meet!” She agreed wholeheartedly, but was a bit hesitant none the less. “But what about my mom?” “I don’t mind meeting her, too.” “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” “We’ll think of something, then. I just want to see you in person. I want to hug you.” We came up with a plan that she and I would meet in a mall. I told her where to find me and that she just had to lose her mom for a few minutes. A few minutes were all the time I was likely to get with her, but it was the best news of my life. For once, it felt like there might be some sense of normalcy to this distant and unusual friendship.</p> <p><br></p> <p> I met a woman today.</p> <p><br></p> <p><br></p> <p><br></p> <h1><em><center>The Tragedy of Age</center></em></h1> <p> You wake up to the sound of your phone. A new email. It can wait a few minutes. You prepare for the day, dress yourself, and check the calendar. You have only five more days to wait until the agreed upon meeting. She will be in town. You can’t believe it to be true, but it is! Five minutes may be all you will have, but it will be the best five minutes of your life, or so it feels.</p> <p> After your morning prayer, you decide that it is time to check the email that woke you up. You already know who it is from and that she has certainly already left for school by the time you are responding. As you open it, horror strikes you.</p> <blockquote><em>Sir, I don’t know who you are, but this is [REDACTED]’s mother. I am very shocked that my daughter has been talking to a stranger online and even more shocked that she planned to meet you behind my back. You will NOT be meeting her and I will be reporting this to your local police. You should be ashamed of yourself for preying on children and I hope you rot in prison.</em></blockquote> <p> Your heart shatters as the words connect in your mind. Part of you knew that something like this might happen. It was inevitable that her mother would learn of the friendship, but you had done nothing. She clearly read through your emails, did she not see that there was nothing wrong in them? Had you ever spoken to her sexually? No! Had you ever sent her inappropriate pictures? Absolutely not! What crime had you committed except being older than her and daring to be a friend?</p> <p> Panicking, you consider hiring a lawyer. Or would that look suspicious? You consider if it would look better when the police come to be completely surprised. After all, you were. You don’t have anything to hide anyway. You have never been ashamed of anything in your friendship and have no ties to anything or anyone that might make it look like you wanted anything more than a friendship with that girl.</p> <p> After much deliberation, you decide to opt for no lawyer until after meeting the police. You know they will be showing up. The police in this town are always quick to respond to anything that might be exciting, and potential child abuse is definitely a more exciting subject for them than the usual speeding tickets. You sit on the couch, staring at the clock as the seconds tick by in agonizingly long intervals. Your lips silently form a prayer as you await the inevitable.</p> <p> There is a loud knock on the door. “This is the police. Open up.” As you open the door, three officers enter the apartment, showing you a search warrant as they begin to rifle through your belongings. They seize your phone and your computer and warn you not to leave town until their investigation is complete.</p> <p> As they leave, you fall to your knees, thanking God that they haven’t arrested you. Yet. You look out the window to see a woman from a few doors down talking to one of the officers and your heart sinks. Everyone will be against you soon. You knew your relationship wasn’t inappropriate, but it seems that the content of your conversations matters far less than your ages.</p> <p> As the officers get back into their cars, you walk out to confront your neighbor. You try to explain to her not to jump to conclusions. It was just a crazy parent. You’ve never done anything inappropriate. You explain the situation to her, but she only pulls out her phone, takes a picture of your face, and calls you a child molester. You return to your apartment and fall face first on the floor, crying as your life collapses and your whole world shatters into a million pieces.</p> <p> The hours feel like days as you wait for the nightmare to end. Your stomach aches for food, but the thought of eating makes you feel sick, so you allow yourself to starve. As the day fades into night, you collapse into bed, utterly defeated and hoping that you will soon wake to find that it has all been a horrible dream.</p> <p> You wake up late the next day to a knock at your door. You hastily dress yourself and answer the door. One of the officers from the previous day is standing there holding your phone and computer. “We made copies of the contents of your devices. You can have them back for the time being.” You thank him and bid him a good day as you close the door, hoping that you never have to see him again.</p> <p> You immediately check your email again. Nothing since the previous day. The day passes slowly. That evening, you turn on the TV, hoping to drown out the pain for a few minutes, but your hopes are short-lived. There, on the local news, is a picture of your face from the previous day.</p> <p> “And in other news, be on the lookout for this man. Yesterday he was visited by the police in connection with a child molestation case. While he has not been formally charged yet, parents are advised to be extremely cautious and if you see him near any children, please do not hesitate call the police. The police department declined to give any more information while the investigation is ongoing.”</p> <p> Your phone rings. You pick it up to hear your father’s angry voice. “What the hell did you do?” You begin explaining everything to him, but your explanation does nothing to abate his anger. “You idiot! Why the hell would you talk to an eleven year old? It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do. You have no business talking to a child online at your age!”</p> <p> Memories of happier times flood your mind. You try to call up the happy conversations you had with her. You vividly recall her laugh and her smile, but they stab your heart with poisoned daggers as the knowledge sets in that those times are in the past and will never be relived. All excitement for the future has been destroyed.</p> <p> The following days are even worse. The rare times that you venture out of your apartment, you are met by unfriendly glares from every stranger you come across. Former friends have abandoned you. Parents clutch their children tightly and lead them well out of their way to avoid you. You would find it funny if it wasn’t you. Parents have become so fearful of the dreaded “child molester” that they won’t allow their children to come within ten yards of you even in public where every eye is on you, analyzing your every action.</p> <p> After the first two days, you grow numb to it all. You even accept that this is simply going to have to be your future. Who knows if you’ll ever find a normal life again? You consider moving, but you can’t afford a move right now. You had been looking for a new job, but no one will hire someone that they heard raped a child. All of this pain because you dared to be a friend. The days blur together and you lose all track of time.</p> <p> The police come to inform you that they found nothing incriminating on any of your devices and that nothing suggests that any crime was committed, but they urge you not to befriend any more children. “It’s for your own good as well,” they tell you. <em>She was your own good</em>, you think as you close the door behind the officer.</p> <p> The police informed you that you were free and innocent, but they clearly never told anyone else. The rest of the city still calls you every foul thing they can think of. As you walk down the street one day, a father even refers to you as a “sick, kid-fucking bastard” in front of his young daughter. That he would say something like that in front of his daughter stings more than the insult itself, but not as much as the insult stings when repeated by his little girl. He, of course, chastises her for using such foul language, then proceeds to flip you the bird as they walk away. You aren’t sure, but you think that you saw the girl mirror the gesture subtly so her father wouldn’t notice.</p> <p> People ask you every day why you aren’t locked up. Those are the nicer ones. Others simply tell you to kill yourself in various, gruesome ways. All of your friends have left you. Your family hates you. Worst of all, you haven’t even heard from your young friend since the day before everything started.</p> <p> You awake in tears on the morning of what was to be the best day of your life. Visions of what could have been torment you every second. Seeing her smile. Hearing her laugh. Holding her in your arms. Being friends as friends should be. None of it is to be anymore. Not even that point in the distant future where she will come of age and visit you will happen now.</p> <p> With the world against you and the pain growing every day, you decide to end your life. You have never before been suicidal, but you have never before been shunned by your family, friends, and all of society. Your outlook for work has evaporated. Each day is filled with torment as people call you the most unspeakable things.</p> <p> You hold a gun in your hand all day, contemplating the act you wish to commit upon yourself. You write out a short note, hoping that the world will at least see their folly after your death. At least your family might mourn your loss. You have barely eaten at all this entire week and your body longs for sustenance. It is likely your final day on earth anyway, so why not indulge? You force a little food down your throat to be your last meal.</p> <p> That evening, you kneel down holding the gun in your hand. You pray, one last time, that God might forgive you for what you are about to do. You beg Him for mercy. You tried to endure, but you could continue no longer. Your own church didn’t even want you. You beg God to accept you; after all, He at least knows the truth.</p> <p> You hold the gun to your head, tears carving their way down your cheeks. This was never what you wanted, but what else can you do? As you steel yourself to pull the trigger and depart this cruel and wretched world, you hear a soft knock on the door. <em>This is it</em>, you think. <em>The police have changed their minds.</em> Maybe the point will be made clearer if you do it right now. You consider even shooting into the door before you shoot yourself, just to inflict a little pain into those who hurt you, but that isn’t you. You are not a violent man, nor are you particularly vengeful. You just long for the pain to stop.</p> <p> You hear the knock again. You break down crying and hide the gun. Slowly, you drag yourself to the door, ready to accept whatever fate waits on the other side. With as much struggle as it would have taken to pull the trigger you reach for the door handle, slowly opening it.</p> <p> Your spirits are lifted instantly. You wipe your eyes and reach down to hug the girl who made your life so wonderful. There she was, standing at your door. You thank God for keeping you from pulling the trigger long enough. For the first time in days, you feel happiness and life.</p> <p> “Are you okay? Have you been crying?” Unlike all of the rest, she was kind to you. She cared so much about the pain in your face. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I never wanted any of this. This is why I didn’t want my mom to know. I’m so sorry.”</p> <p> You tell her not to blame herself. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even her mother’s fault. It was the fault of a society so warped by this paranoia that even an innocent and beneficial friendship between two of such varying ages was seen as something dangerous and perverse.</p> <p> She tells you that she sneaked away from her mother while on vacation to come see you. You tell her how important it is to you and thank her for coming at just the right time. You keep to yourself, however, the fact that you were just about to end your life. It was over now, and she didn’t need to know the true depths of the darkness you had plunged into.</p> <p> After much insistence from her, you tell her that she can spend the night, but she would have to go back to her mother the next day. It is a bad idea and you know that her mother is worried about her, but she refuses to go back, and the sheer joy at having her to fill your life with love at this painful time prevents you from denying her this one wish. In the morning, you will have her call her mother and tell her that she ran away to visit you. It will be clear that you never harmed her and took very good care of her. Of course, your friend will back you up on all of it. Perhaps, you think in your naivety, her mother will realize her folly and allow your friendship to resume as it was. Sure, you will still suffer under the false branding that society has given you, but with her in your life to bring you joy, you can manage.</p> <p> You pull out some spare blankets and fix the couch up for her to sleep on as she takes a bath. This girl who has become so important to your life is actually going to live with you for the night. It is like a dream come true. For one night you can pretend that the world makes sense. All of the pain melts away with that wonderful and joyous girl just a door away.</p> <p> Exhausted and finally at peace, you knock on the bathroom door to tell her that she can sleep on the couch and it’s fixed up for her. You hear water splash in the tub and her angelic voice thank you. You change into pajamas, wish her a good night through the door, turn off the lights, and crawl into bed.</p> <p> Minutes later, you hear the bathroom door open and wet feet pad across the floor towards your room and the door squeaks open. You look in her direction, but it’s too dark in your room to see her. You feel the bed shift as her weight sinks into it.</p> <p> “I want to sleep with you,” she says. For a moment, you consider how that might look. It worries you, but then you realize that it doesn’t matter. You two are alone. No one else will see it. You permit her and wrap your arm around her. Surely the world would think you intend to harm her here, but that is the furthest thing from your mind. You just appreciate having her by your side when you need the love of a loyal friend the most. She slips her thin arms around you, and you both fall asleep, quiet and content. The world is finally right</p> <p><br></p> <p><br></p> <p><br></p> <h1><em><center>The Tragedy of Time</center></em></h1> <p> He awoke suddenly to a loud crash. They both jolted upright to see three police officers burst into his small apartment. The police rushed into the room, turning on the lights and dragging the two delirious sleepers out of bed. “You couldn’t keep to yourself could you, sicko?” said the same officer who brought back his devices only a few days prior.</p> <p> As he began to connect the dots of what was happening in his half-awakened state, he recognized what would undoubtedly be the final nail in the coffin of his inevitable conviction. There, standing across the room, roughly held in place by an excited police officer was his young friend wearing her t-shirt and only a pair of panties. He could already hear the prosecution celebrating.</p> <p> Why she chose to come to bed with such little clothing ate away at the prisoner as he rode, cuffed in the back of a police car. Was she just not comfortable sleeping in her jeans? He ran through his mind every possible explanation he could give to acquit himself, but he knew it would now be a miracle to escape time behind bars.</p> <p> He cried alone in his holding cell as the police came to ask questions. He knew well enough to keep silent until a lawyer arrived for him, and so he did. He hired the best lawyer he could afford with his meager money and prayed that there would be even an ounce of mercy in the jurors’ hearts.</p> <p> The first meeting with his lawyer went poorly, in the prisoner’s estimation. The attorney said that the case didn’t look good. The prosecution had the girl and she was practically being interrogated. Her mother, even, was pressuring the police to squeeze out a confession of abuse. The prisoner swore up and down that he never did anything to the girl, nor had he ever intended to do anything to her. His lawyer only suggested that he seriously consider a plea deal if one came up, but it never did.</p> <p><br></p> <p> The morning of his trial was the most stressful morning of the prisoner’s existence. He again longed for that gun to end his life himself before the “justice” system did. He walked into the courthouse with his lawyer and there she was. The girl, seeing him, ran over to hug him as her mother chased after her. The prisoner lifted his cuffed hands over her head to return the hug.</p> <p> “I’m so sorry,” she said. “They made me say it. I didn’t mean it. I told them it wasn’t true. They just kept asking me and asking me. I didn’t mean to say it, but they wouldn’t stop asking me. Please forgive me.”</p> <p> He looked down into her watery eyes, tears streaming down his own face and gave her his forgiveness as her mother pried her daughter off of him with the most disgusted look he’d received in his life. The girl he cared about was dragged away, staring back at him with sorrow on her face.</p> <p> The courtroom was packed. It felt like every person in town who cursed him and spat on him was there. They all glared at him and a few even hurled insults at him. He had no idea what the news had been saying about him, but he was sure that her mother had been twisting events in every report.</p> <p> “All rise.” The judge entered the room, sat down, and introduced the case. Never had the prisoner expected to sit in the defendant’s chair, yet there he was, awaiting his own conviction. He half expected the death sentence and almost even hoped for it, though he knew criminals of this nature never were executed physically.</p> <p> He barely even paid attention to the trial, letting his lawyer handle everything unless he was specifically asked a question. Then they brought forward the girl. He smiled sorrowfully at her as she took the stand. She was sworn in and the prosecutor began his task of near-torture.</p> <p> “Miss [REDACTED], when we questioned you about what this man did to you, you told us a very interesting story, could you please tell it again for the court? No one’s going to think badly of you.”</p> <p> She looked over at her friend and gave him a hopeful smile. “I lied. I didn’t mean any of that. You made me say it. He didn’t do anything wrong. Please just let him go.”</p> <p> The prosecutor frowned. “Sweetie, you can’t go telling lies to the court. Remember when you swore on the Bible that you would tell the truth? Please tell the court what you told us.”</p> <p> “But this is what I told you. For hours and hours,” she said, exasperated. “I told you he didn’t do anything to me. Why don’t you believe me when I say he’s good but you will believe me when you make me lie?”</p> <p> “Your honor, may I request to cross examine the victim in a separate room via television screen? I believe the defendant’s presence is causing her distress.”</p> <p> “Objection!” the prisoner’s lawyer yelled, violently rising out of his chair, almost knocking the chair over. “The defendant has the right to face his accuser.”</p> <p> “That may be,” the judge replied, “but we cannot put this young girl under any more duress than is necessary. I think that a televised cross examination would suffice and justice may still be found.”</p> <p> The girl was escorted out of the room as she mouthed the words “I’m sorry” to the man in the defendant’s chair. Soon a screen was brought into the court and the girl’s face appeared. The prosecutor’s voice was heard off-screen asking questions about what happened. She denied every accusation repeatedly, even under threats of being held for contempt of court.</p> <p> Finally, the prosecutor ended the cross examination and returned to the court without the girl. “Your honor, we have for the court the testimony that she gave during our investigation.” He handed a transcript to the judge which was subsequently passed throughout the jury. The jurors’ faces grew red as they read through the account before it was ultimately handed over to the man’s lawyer. The prisoner did not dare to look at whatever lies were forced out of his friend.</p> <p> “This does seem pretty compelling,” said the judge, “but in light of her earlier testimony may be insufficient. Please bring in your next witness.”</p> <p> It felt like the prosecution had rigged the game in their favor. The defense had very little they could put forward and the lack of convincing evidence didn’t seem to bother anyone else.</p> <p> A school nurse was brought before the court. She was from a local school and was introduced as the medical examiner of the girl’s condition. She was sworn in and asked about her medical expertise. She had served as a school nurse for thirty years and had been called to court twice before for similar cases.</p> <p> “Would you please describe your findings on the victim,” the prosecutor said in a cold, professional tone.</p> <p> The nurse took a deep breath and began, “I think she’s been assaulted several times. Her hymen has definitely been torn and it looks like it’s from sex.”</p> <p> “Does it appear as though this tearing is the result of a recent experience?” the prosecutor probed.</p> <p> “It could be. It’s hard to tell, but it was definitely torn by a penis,” the nurse said without even a trace of professional filter.</p> <p> The defense attorney saw his chance and opted to cross examine. “Ma’am, have you ever served in any professional capacity outside of a school?” The nurse denied it. “Are you a Registered Nurse?” The nurse denied it. “Then what professional knowledge would you have on this matter.”</p> <p> “I’m a woman, sir. I know what a hymen looks like and I know what it looks like after sex. Any woman can testify as well as me on this.”</p> <p> The defense attorney did not let up. “But is it not possible for tearing to occur through simple physical activity or even possibly through masturbation?”</p> <p> “Did you suddenly grow a vagina?” the nurse responded irately. “I’ve lived with mine for much longer than you. I think I can tell you more about it than you can tell me. They don’t call it a girl’s virginity for nothing.” A few of the women on the jury gave the defense attorney scathing looks.</p> <p> “But even the prosecution admits that there was no DNA evidence left to prove that the crime they allege actually occurred,” the attorney continued. “If the defendant did act according to the questionable testimony that the prosecution provided, where is the DNA evidence?”</p> <p> “Maybe he just didn’t finish,” the nurse responded, visibly irate. “And of course there could have been no blood. It doesn’t always bleed that much. Mine didn’t. Did yours, oh knowledgeable vagina lawyer?”</p> <p> The attorney’s face flushed and he ended the cross examination with no further questions. The trial dragged onwards with little hope. Even blatant contradictions in testimonies did little to dissuade the court from its judgment. The prosecution continually drew in more and more sympathy by twisting every detail to prove that the prisoner was guilty of the most monstrous things they could conjure up to present to the jury. All through the courtroom people wiped their eyes as they envisioned despicable abuses that never happened.</p> <p> The time finally came for a verdict. The jury left the court to deliberate. The prisoner’s heart sank and his thoughts again turned to the gun. He even considered grabbing the bailiff’s so that he might end his life then and there, but knew it would be no use. He held his face in his hands and sobbed as the jury returned.</p> <p> “Despite some lack of evidence on the abuses, we the jury find the defendant guilty of one count of soliciting sexual exploitation of a minor by electronic means.”</p> <p> Just like that, it was over. His life. His future. Everything. His attorney turned to him and told him that he was lucky. He would have felt luckier if he had pulled the trigger instead of letting her in. He should have sent her to her mother that night, but it was late. He was exhausted and blinded by love in those dark hours. His attorney reassured him that calling her mother still probably wouldn’t have prevented the trial.</p> <p> A part of him cursed the day he met her. He even wanted to curse her, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even her mother’s fault. The world cared so much about protecting his young friend that he was condemned for nothing more than friendship, while she was devastated by the rough investigation and court proceedings.</p> <p> The prisoner was sentenced to fifteen years in prison and permanent registration as a sex offender. His friend was sentenced to a life in psychiatrists’ offices. The happy friendship they had envisioned was gone in a flash.</p> <p> Only once did she visit him in prison. She told him that she was sorry for everything that happened and forgave him for what he did to her. He wasn’t sure what she was forgiving him for.</p> <p> The abuses he suffered in prison went far beyond anything he was accused of doing to his friend. In prison, his inmates all made sure to treat him exactly as his fellow citizens wished they could during that first horrific week.</p> <p> Fifteen years later, the prisoner emerged as a somewhat free man. He was permitted housing, but he first had to travel door to door, explaining what he had allegedly done to end up on that accursed list. By the time he was able to settle in at his new home, he almost believed that he actually had done all of those things.</p> <p> He reached out to his old friend. She was now twenty-six and married with a few children of her own. He asked to see her again, hoping to rekindle the last friendship he had.</p> <p> “Please don’t ever call me again. I forgave you years ago. Was that not enough? You ruined my life enough already, and I definitely am not risking the same thing happening to my children.”</p> <p> He told her that he was sorry. He told her that he loved her. He hung up the phone and cried, longing once more for the gun that he could no longer own. </p> </html> |
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| permlink | a-tragedy-in-three-persons-original-short-story |
| title | A Tragedy in Three Persons (Original Short Story) |
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"author": "ninefoldrin",
"body": "<html>\n<h1><em><center>The Tragedy of Space</center></em></h1>\n<p> I met a girl one day. Her hair is gold; her face, a portrait; her laughter is like an angelic chorus. She is one of my best friends. Her name doesn’t matter, nor does my own. All that matters is the strength of our relationship and the love we express between ourselves. </p>\n<p> Now, I use the word “love” unexpected to you. Surely you think that I must have met the girl of my dreams and we now are in a romance, but I assure you, this is no storybook romance, and if this relationship ever reaches the point of romance then my future is damned and my reputation destroyed. This girl who has so captivated my attention and won my love is a mere eleven years old and I most certainly am not.</p>\n<p> There’s that word again: “love.” I say it often in relation to her. I do love her very dearly. I cannot describe it as the love between a father and a daughter, though I do take that role from time to time. I cannot describe it as the love between two friends, for that is inadequate for what we share. Though this relationship must certainly be called a friendship, the love between us is unlike that in any “normal” friendship. I have plenty of friends my own age and can say that I love many of them dearly, but this is a different kind of love. This love cannot be romance, either. Yes, I think she’s beautiful. I even think she’s attractive. But I might also describe someone like Brad Pitt as attractive and I certainly don’t want to share a bed with him nor, to be honest, any Hollywood actor or even actress. I do acknowledge this girl’s beauty, but I have no designs or intentions to sleep with her and if I ever do, then I submit myself to the jury and all just punishment that the law wills; but I do love her.</p>\n<p> Yes, love. Love. Love. Love. I keep coming back to that word. I want to see her. I want to hug her. I want to tell her how pretty she is. Does a father not do all these for his daughter? Does a friend not give similar treatment to friends? Why do her age and my lack of a blood relation dictate that this love must be a perverse sort?</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p> I met a girl one day. Her eyes shine with life and beauty; her face, elven and perfect. I love her. We met online. Bored one day, I strolled around a somewhat popular site. I had previously used it as linguistic practice. Many of the users are from other countries and it was a great opportunity to practice second and third languages with native speakers. This one day, however, I noticed a young face amidst the list of streams. I clicked and began to talk.</p>\n<p> It was like fate. We connected really well right off the bat and talking together was easier than most any other stranger I meet. We don’t share much in common, but she has this life and joy about her that I can enjoy anything she enjoys just by exposure to her joy. She’s always happy, always laughing. When she’s sad, my heart breaks. When that smile dissolves and her eyes well up, the world around me collapses. She is the embodiment of happiness and should never cry, but that is not the kind of world we live in. Yet, she always bounces back swiftly. Out of the deepest sadness, she springs up like a fountain of happiness once more and I find myself just as happy and excited as her.</p>\n<p> Early on, I was made certain of my suspicions that some force greater than ourselves brought us together. It turned out that we shared a religion. As a very religious person, that comes as the most important thing. My heart filled with joy. Sure, she didn’t take our shared faith as seriously as myself, but neither did I when I was eleven. She had room to grow, but we shared beliefs and that was the most important thing. I thanked God that He had blessed me so.</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p> I met a girl one day. We had grown fairly close after the passing of weeks and months. We exchanged various forms of contact information and took our conversations outside of that site infested with perverts and the “pure, chivalrous champions” that were even more problematic than the perverts at times. She told me where she lived. I told her where I live. Naturally, she lives across the country. This always happens. I find someone wonderful and they live too far away. Perhaps it’s for the best, though. If she lived near me, I’d meet her every day I could. It’d only be a matter of time before someone would come to the wrong conclusion and our friendship would be shattered by the incurably nosey.</p>\n<p> She sent me “selfies.” My goodness! That girl is gorgeous. “Those were the first selfies I’ve ever taken,” she told me. I’m not sure that I believe that. She must have a great future in photography if they truly were her first. I often wonder why she is friends with me, some old nobody. I bet there are people at her school that would do anything to call her friend, but I’ve never even been near her and we’re closer friends than the friends I have had since my own childhood and probably closer than she is with some of her friends, if not all of her friends. I don’t deserve her, yet I have her.</p>\n<p> I heard my phone chime one day and opened it up to check. My heart leaped for joy to see an email from her. She is such a wonderful girl. I sent her some “selfies” of my own; just because. She was kind. I half expected laughter. I’ve been told I’m attractive, but I’ve never seen that man in my mirror. Maybe I’m too hard on myself, but I don’t expect others to have anything positive to say about my looks, but this girl sure did. It warms my heart. She told me that I’m the friend she always wanted.</p>\n<p> “I’d love to meet you some day,” I told her. “Me too, she replied. “When I’m older I’ll come and visit you.” I loved that, but I couldn’t wait so long! I’d never longed to see a friend so dearly before in my life. So close we had grown, yet we’d never even been in the same city. I began to plan a trip to visit her. I could probably afford it, just barely. But then I came to the sad realization that it would not work. Her mother still didn’t know me. I wasn’t afraid to talk to her mother, but this girl wasn’t up to the idea of me talking to her parents. I thought, <em>if she only knew that I was kind, a friend, then she would see the benefits of this friendship. We could meet. We could get together. I could finally wrap my arms around her and whisper “I love you” in her ear.</em> Love. What a cruel and painful emotion.</p>\n<p> I met a girl one day. It seemed that we were destined to never meet. She would forever be apart from me. Again, it was probably for the best. There are ample email records that proved the merits of our relationship. Nothing could be misinterpreted from that. I had never crossed any boundaries of appropriateness, nor had she. We are friends. We are close. Still, whatever defense I may have would struggle under the weight of the accusations.</p>\n<p> I received an email from her. “Guess what? I have a boyfriend!” I have to say, I was a little jealous at first. Yes, I admit it. I was jealous that some silly boy had stolen her from me, but I imagine that’s the common feeling among fathers when their little girls find another male to love them. Again, I’ve never expected any form of romance from her, nor have I sought it out. She is eleven and I am not. I cannot see myself traveling that path of secrecy and questionable (at best) morality. I was happy that she had a boyfriend and hoped that he would continually make her happy.</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p> I met a girl one day. She sent me an email. “Guess what?” I hadn’t a clue. “Come on, guess!” I threw out some obviously wrong ideas, “You’re going to mars! You just sailed around the world! You won the Nobel Prize!” “Wrong, wrong, and wrong.” I officially gave up this failed quiz. “I’m going on vacation in two weeks!” She seemed very happy. “That’s awesome. Where are you going?”</p>\n<p> I almost fell out of my chair as my heart exploded with emotion and I leaped for joy! Here? She was coming here? To my city? I never even knew that people took vacations here, but by some stroke of luck, her family was peculiar and wanted to come here for the three sights there were to see. “We have to meet!” She agreed wholeheartedly, but was a bit hesitant none the less. “But what about my mom?” “I don’t mind meeting her, too.” “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” “We’ll think of something, then. I just want to see you in person. I want to hug you.” We came up with a plan that she and I would meet in a mall. I told her where to find me and that she just had to lose her mom for a few minutes. A few minutes were all the time I was likely to get with her, but it was the best news of my life. For once, it felt like there might be some sense of normalcy to this distant and unusual friendship.</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p> I met a woman today.</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<h1><em><center>The Tragedy of Age</center></em></h1>\n<p> You wake up to the sound of your phone. A new email. It can wait a few minutes. You prepare for the day, dress yourself, and check the calendar. You have only five more days to wait until the agreed upon meeting. She will be in town. You can’t believe it to be true, but it is! Five minutes may be all you will have, but it will be the best five minutes of your life, or so it feels.</p>\n<p> After your morning prayer, you decide that it is time to check the email that woke you up. You already know who it is from and that she has certainly already left for school by the time you are responding. As you open it, horror strikes you.</p>\n<blockquote><em>Sir, I don’t know who you are, but this is [REDACTED]’s mother. I am very shocked that my daughter has been talking to a stranger online and even more shocked that she planned to meet you behind my back. You will NOT be meeting her and I will be reporting this to your local police. You should be ashamed of yourself for preying on children and I hope you rot in prison.</em></blockquote>\n<p> Your heart shatters as the words connect in your mind. Part of you knew that something like this might happen. It was inevitable that her mother would learn of the friendship, but you had done nothing. She clearly read through your emails, did she not see that there was nothing wrong in them? Had you ever spoken to her sexually? No! Had you ever sent her inappropriate pictures? Absolutely not! What crime had you committed except being older than her and daring to be a friend?</p>\n<p> Panicking, you consider hiring a lawyer. Or would that look suspicious? You consider if it would look better when the police come to be completely surprised. After all, you were. You don’t have anything to hide anyway. You have never been ashamed of anything in your friendship and have no ties to anything or anyone that might make it look like you wanted anything more than a friendship with that girl.</p>\n<p> After much deliberation, you decide to opt for no lawyer until after meeting the police. You know they will be showing up. The police in this town are always quick to respond to anything that might be exciting, and potential child abuse is definitely a more exciting subject for them than the usual speeding tickets. You sit on the couch, staring at the clock as the seconds tick by in agonizingly long intervals. Your lips silently form a prayer as you await the inevitable.</p>\n<p> There is a loud knock on the door. “This is the police. Open up.” As you open the door, three officers enter the apartment, showing you a search warrant as they begin to rifle through your belongings. They seize your phone and your computer and warn you not to leave town until their investigation is complete.</p>\n<p> As they leave, you fall to your knees, thanking God that they haven’t arrested you. Yet. You look out the window to see a woman from a few doors down talking to one of the officers and your heart sinks. Everyone will be against you soon. You knew your relationship wasn’t inappropriate, but it seems that the content of your conversations matters far less than your ages.</p>\n<p> As the officers get back into their cars, you walk out to confront your neighbor. You try to explain to her not to jump to conclusions. It was just a crazy parent. You’ve never done anything inappropriate. You explain the situation to her, but she only pulls out her phone, takes a picture of your face, and calls you a child molester. You return to your apartment and fall face first on the floor, crying as your life collapses and your whole world shatters into a million pieces.</p>\n<p> The hours feel like days as you wait for the nightmare to end. Your stomach aches for food, but the thought of eating makes you feel sick, so you allow yourself to starve. As the day fades into night, you collapse into bed, utterly defeated and hoping that you will soon wake to find that it has all been a horrible dream.</p>\n<p> You wake up late the next day to a knock at your door. You hastily dress yourself and answer the door. One of the officers from the previous day is standing there holding your phone and computer. “We made copies of the contents of your devices. You can have them back for the time being.” You thank him and bid him a good day as you close the door, hoping that you never have to see him again.</p>\n<p> You immediately check your email again. Nothing since the previous day. The day passes slowly. That evening, you turn on the TV, hoping to drown out the pain for a few minutes, but your hopes are short-lived. There, on the local news, is a picture of your face from the previous day.</p>\n<p> “And in other news, be on the lookout for this man. Yesterday he was visited by the police in connection with a child molestation case. While he has not been formally charged yet, parents are advised to be extremely cautious and if you see him near any children, please do not hesitate call the police. The police department declined to give any more information while the investigation is ongoing.”</p>\n<p> Your phone rings. You pick it up to hear your father’s angry voice. “What the hell did you do?” You begin explaining everything to him, but your explanation does nothing to abate his anger. “You idiot! Why the hell would you talk to an eleven year old? It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do. You have no business talking to a child online at your age!”</p>\n<p> Memories of happier times flood your mind. You try to call up the happy conversations you had with her. You vividly recall her laugh and her smile, but they stab your heart with poisoned daggers as the knowledge sets in that those times are in the past and will never be relived. All excitement for the future has been destroyed.</p>\n<p> The following days are even worse. The rare times that you venture out of your apartment, you are met by unfriendly glares from every stranger you come across. Former friends have abandoned you. Parents clutch their children tightly and lead them well out of their way to avoid you. You would find it funny if it wasn’t you. Parents have become so fearful of the dreaded “child molester” that they won’t allow their children to come within ten yards of you even in public where every eye is on you, analyzing your every action.</p>\n<p> After the first two days, you grow numb to it all. You even accept that this is simply going to have to be your future. Who knows if you’ll ever find a normal life again? You consider moving, but you can’t afford a move right now. You had been looking for a new job, but no one will hire someone that they heard raped a child. All of this pain because you dared to be a friend. The days blur together and you lose all track of time.</p>\n<p> The police come to inform you that they found nothing incriminating on any of your devices and that nothing suggests that any crime was committed, but they urge you not to befriend any more children. “It’s for your own good as well,” they tell you. <em>She was your own good</em>, you think as you close the door behind the officer.</p>\n<p> The police informed you that you were free and innocent, but they clearly never told anyone else. The rest of the city still calls you every foul thing they can think of. As you walk down the street one day, a father even refers to you as a “sick, kid-fucking bastard” in front of his young daughter. That he would say something like that in front of his daughter stings more than the insult itself, but not as much as the insult stings when repeated by his little girl. He, of course, chastises her for using such foul language, then proceeds to flip you the bird as they walk away. You aren’t sure, but you think that you saw the girl mirror the gesture subtly so her father wouldn’t notice.</p>\n<p> People ask you every day why you aren’t locked up. Those are the nicer ones. Others simply tell you to kill yourself in various, gruesome ways. All of your friends have left you. Your family hates you. Worst of all, you haven’t even heard from your young friend since the day before everything started.</p>\n<p> You awake in tears on the morning of what was to be the best day of your life. Visions of what could have been torment you every second. Seeing her smile. Hearing her laugh. Holding her in your arms. Being friends as friends should be. None of it is to be anymore. Not even that point in the distant future where she will come of age and visit you will happen now.</p>\n<p> With the world against you and the pain growing every day, you decide to end your life. You have never before been suicidal, but you have never before been shunned by your family, friends, and all of society. Your outlook for work has evaporated. Each day is filled with torment as people call you the most unspeakable things.</p>\n<p> You hold a gun in your hand all day, contemplating the act you wish to commit upon yourself. You write out a short note, hoping that the world will at least see their folly after your death. At least your family might mourn your loss. You have barely eaten at all this entire week and your body longs for sustenance. It is likely your final day on earth anyway, so why not indulge? You force a little food down your throat to be your last meal.</p>\n<p> That evening, you kneel down holding the gun in your hand. You pray, one last time, that God might forgive you for what you are about to do. You beg Him for mercy. You tried to endure, but you could continue no longer. Your own church didn’t even want you. You beg God to accept you; after all, He at least knows the truth.</p>\n<p> You hold the gun to your head, tears carving their way down your cheeks. This was never what you wanted, but what else can you do? As you steel yourself to pull the trigger and depart this cruel and wretched world, you hear a soft knock on the door. <em>This is it</em>, you think. <em>The police have changed their minds.</em> Maybe the point will be made clearer if you do it right now. You consider even shooting into the door before you shoot yourself, just to inflict a little pain into those who hurt you, but that isn’t you. You are not a violent man, nor are you particularly vengeful. You just long for the pain to stop.</p>\n<p> You hear the knock again. You break down crying and hide the gun. Slowly, you drag yourself to the door, ready to accept whatever fate waits on the other side. With as much struggle as it would have taken to pull the trigger you reach for the door handle, slowly opening it.</p>\n<p> Your spirits are lifted instantly. You wipe your eyes and reach down to hug the girl who made your life so wonderful. There she was, standing at your door. You thank God for keeping you from pulling the trigger long enough. For the first time in days, you feel happiness and life.</p>\n<p> “Are you okay? Have you been crying?” Unlike all of the rest, she was kind to you. She cared so much about the pain in your face. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I never wanted any of this. This is why I didn’t want my mom to know. I’m so sorry.”</p>\n<p> You tell her not to blame herself. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even her mother’s fault. It was the fault of a society so warped by this paranoia that even an innocent and beneficial friendship between two of such varying ages was seen as something dangerous and perverse.</p>\n<p> She tells you that she sneaked away from her mother while on vacation to come see you. You tell her how important it is to you and thank her for coming at just the right time. You keep to yourself, however, the fact that you were just about to end your life. It was over now, and she didn’t need to know the true depths of the darkness you had plunged into.</p>\n<p> After much insistence from her, you tell her that she can spend the night, but she would have to go back to her mother the next day. It is a bad idea and you know that her mother is worried about her, but she refuses to go back, and the sheer joy at having her to fill your life with love at this painful time prevents you from denying her this one wish. In the morning, you will have her call her mother and tell her that she ran away to visit you. It will be clear that you never harmed her and took very good care of her. Of course, your friend will back you up on all of it. Perhaps, you think in your naivety, her mother will realize her folly and allow your friendship to resume as it was. Sure, you will still suffer under the false branding that society has given you, but with her in your life to bring you joy, you can manage.</p>\n<p> You pull out some spare blankets and fix the couch up for her to sleep on as she takes a bath. This girl who has become so important to your life is actually going to live with you for the night. It is like a dream come true. For one night you can pretend that the world makes sense. All of the pain melts away with that wonderful and joyous girl just a door away.</p>\n<p> Exhausted and finally at peace, you knock on the bathroom door to tell her that she can sleep on the couch and it’s fixed up for her. You hear water splash in the tub and her angelic voice thank you. You change into pajamas, wish her a good night through the door, turn off the lights, and crawl into bed.</p>\n<p> Minutes later, you hear the bathroom door open and wet feet pad across the floor towards your room and the door squeaks open. You look in her direction, but it’s too dark in your room to see her. You feel the bed shift as her weight sinks into it.</p>\n<p> “I want to sleep with you,” she says. For a moment, you consider how that might look. It worries you, but then you realize that it doesn’t matter. You two are alone. No one else will see it. You permit her and wrap your arm around her. Surely the world would think you intend to harm her here, but that is the furthest thing from your mind. You just appreciate having her by your side when you need the love of a loyal friend the most. She slips her thin arms around you, and you both fall asleep, quiet and content. The world is finally right</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<h1><em><center>The Tragedy of Time</center></em></h1>\n<p> He awoke suddenly to a loud crash. They both jolted upright to see three police officers burst into his small apartment. The police rushed into the room, turning on the lights and dragging the two delirious sleepers out of bed. “You couldn’t keep to yourself could you, sicko?” said the same officer who brought back his devices only a few days prior.</p>\n<p> As he began to connect the dots of what was happening in his half-awakened state, he recognized what would undoubtedly be the final nail in the coffin of his inevitable conviction. There, standing across the room, roughly held in place by an excited police officer was his young friend wearing her t-shirt and only a pair of panties. He could already hear the prosecution celebrating.</p>\n<p> Why she chose to come to bed with such little clothing ate away at the prisoner as he rode, cuffed in the back of a police car. Was she just not comfortable sleeping in her jeans? He ran through his mind every possible explanation he could give to acquit himself, but he knew it would now be a miracle to escape time behind bars.</p>\n<p> He cried alone in his holding cell as the police came to ask questions. He knew well enough to keep silent until a lawyer arrived for him, and so he did. He hired the best lawyer he could afford with his meager money and prayed that there would be even an ounce of mercy in the jurors’ hearts.</p>\n<p> The first meeting with his lawyer went poorly, in the prisoner’s estimation. The attorney said that the case didn’t look good. The prosecution had the girl and she was practically being interrogated. Her mother, even, was pressuring the police to squeeze out a confession of abuse. The prisoner swore up and down that he never did anything to the girl, nor had he ever intended to do anything to her. His lawyer only suggested that he seriously consider a plea deal if one came up, but it never did.</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p> The morning of his trial was the most stressful morning of the prisoner’s existence. He again longed for that gun to end his life himself before the “justice” system did. He walked into the courthouse with his lawyer and there she was. The girl, seeing him, ran over to hug him as her mother chased after her. The prisoner lifted his cuffed hands over her head to return the hug.</p>\n<p> “I’m so sorry,” she said. “They made me say it. I didn’t mean it. I told them it wasn’t true. They just kept asking me and asking me. I didn’t mean to say it, but they wouldn’t stop asking me. Please forgive me.”</p>\n<p> He looked down into her watery eyes, tears streaming down his own face and gave her his forgiveness as her mother pried her daughter off of him with the most disgusted look he’d received in his life. The girl he cared about was dragged away, staring back at him with sorrow on her face.</p>\n<p> The courtroom was packed. It felt like every person in town who cursed him and spat on him was there. They all glared at him and a few even hurled insults at him. He had no idea what the news had been saying about him, but he was sure that her mother had been twisting events in every report.</p>\n<p> “All rise.” The judge entered the room, sat down, and introduced the case. Never had the prisoner expected to sit in the defendant’s chair, yet there he was, awaiting his own conviction. He half expected the death sentence and almost even hoped for it, though he knew criminals of this nature never were executed physically.</p>\n<p> He barely even paid attention to the trial, letting his lawyer handle everything unless he was specifically asked a question. Then they brought forward the girl. He smiled sorrowfully at her as she took the stand. She was sworn in and the prosecutor began his task of near-torture.</p>\n<p> “Miss [REDACTED], when we questioned you about what this man did to you, you told us a very interesting story, could you please tell it again for the court? No one’s going to think badly of you.”</p>\n<p> She looked over at her friend and gave him a hopeful smile. “I lied. I didn’t mean any of that. You made me say it. He didn’t do anything wrong. Please just let him go.”</p>\n<p> The prosecutor frowned. “Sweetie, you can’t go telling lies to the court. Remember when you swore on the Bible that you would tell the truth? Please tell the court what you told us.”</p>\n<p> “But this is what I told you. For hours and hours,” she said, exasperated. “I told you he didn’t do anything to me. Why don’t you believe me when I say he’s good but you will believe me when you make me lie?”</p>\n<p> “Your honor, may I request to cross examine the victim in a separate room via television screen? I believe the defendant’s presence is causing her distress.”</p>\n<p> “Objection!” the prisoner’s lawyer yelled, violently rising out of his chair, almost knocking the chair over. “The defendant has the right to face his accuser.”</p>\n<p> “That may be,” the judge replied, “but we cannot put this young girl under any more duress than is necessary. I think that a televised cross examination would suffice and justice may still be found.”</p>\n<p> The girl was escorted out of the room as she mouthed the words “I’m sorry” to the man in the defendant’s chair. Soon a screen was brought into the court and the girl’s face appeared. The prosecutor’s voice was heard off-screen asking questions about what happened. She denied every accusation repeatedly, even under threats of being held for contempt of court.</p>\n<p> Finally, the prosecutor ended the cross examination and returned to the court without the girl. “Your honor, we have for the court the testimony that she gave during our investigation.” He handed a transcript to the judge which was subsequently passed throughout the jury. The jurors’ faces grew red as they read through the account before it was ultimately handed over to the man’s lawyer. The prisoner did not dare to look at whatever lies were forced out of his friend.</p>\n<p> “This does seem pretty compelling,” said the judge, “but in light of her earlier testimony may be insufficient. Please bring in your next witness.”</p>\n<p> It felt like the prosecution had rigged the game in their favor. The defense had very little they could put forward and the lack of convincing evidence didn’t seem to bother anyone else.</p>\n<p> A school nurse was brought before the court. She was from a local school and was introduced as the medical examiner of the girl’s condition. She was sworn in and asked about her medical expertise. She had served as a school nurse for thirty years and had been called to court twice before for similar cases.</p>\n<p> “Would you please describe your findings on the victim,” the prosecutor said in a cold, professional tone.</p>\n<p> The nurse took a deep breath and began, “I think she’s been assaulted several times. Her hymen has definitely been torn and it looks like it’s from sex.”</p>\n<p> “Does it appear as though this tearing is the result of a recent experience?” the prosecutor probed.</p>\n<p> “It could be. It’s hard to tell, but it was definitely torn by a penis,” the nurse said without even a trace of professional filter.</p>\n<p> The defense attorney saw his chance and opted to cross examine. “Ma’am, have you ever served in any professional capacity outside of a school?” The nurse denied it. “Are you a Registered Nurse?” The nurse denied it. “Then what professional knowledge would you have on this matter.”</p>\n<p> “I’m a woman, sir. I know what a hymen looks like and I know what it looks like after sex. Any woman can testify as well as me on this.”</p>\n<p> The defense attorney did not let up. “But is it not possible for tearing to occur through simple physical activity or even possibly through masturbation?”</p>\n<p> “Did you suddenly grow a vagina?” the nurse responded irately. “I’ve lived with mine for much longer than you. I think I can tell you more about it than you can tell me. They don’t call it a girl’s virginity for nothing.” A few of the women on the jury gave the defense attorney scathing looks.</p>\n<p> “But even the prosecution admits that there was no DNA evidence left to prove that the crime they allege actually occurred,” the attorney continued. “If the defendant did act according to the questionable testimony that the prosecution provided, where is the DNA evidence?”</p>\n<p> “Maybe he just didn’t finish,” the nurse responded, visibly irate. “And of course there could have been no blood. It doesn’t always bleed that much. Mine didn’t. Did yours, oh knowledgeable vagina lawyer?”</p>\n<p> The attorney’s face flushed and he ended the cross examination with no further questions. The trial dragged onwards with little hope. Even blatant contradictions in testimonies did little to dissuade the court from its judgment. The prosecution continually drew in more and more sympathy by twisting every detail to prove that the prisoner was guilty of the most monstrous things they could conjure up to present to the jury. All through the courtroom people wiped their eyes as they envisioned despicable abuses that never happened.</p>\n<p> The time finally came for a verdict. The jury left the court to deliberate. The prisoner’s heart sank and his thoughts again turned to the gun. He even considered grabbing the bailiff’s so that he might end his life then and there, but knew it would be no use. He held his face in his hands and sobbed as the jury returned.</p>\n<p> “Despite some lack of evidence on the abuses, we the jury find the defendant guilty of one count of soliciting sexual exploitation of a minor by electronic means.”</p>\n<p> Just like that, it was over. His life. His future. Everything. His attorney turned to him and told him that he was lucky. He would have felt luckier if he had pulled the trigger instead of letting her in. He should have sent her to her mother that night, but it was late. He was exhausted and blinded by love in those dark hours. His attorney reassured him that calling her mother still probably wouldn’t have prevented the trial.</p>\n<p> A part of him cursed the day he met her. He even wanted to curse her, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even her mother’s fault. The world cared so much about protecting his young friend that he was condemned for nothing more than friendship, while she was devastated by the rough investigation and court proceedings.</p>\n<p> The prisoner was sentenced to fifteen years in prison and permanent registration as a sex offender. His friend was sentenced to a life in psychiatrists’ offices. The happy friendship they had envisioned was gone in a flash.</p>\n<p> Only once did she visit him in prison. She told him that she was sorry for everything that happened and forgave him for what he did to her. He wasn’t sure what she was forgiving him for.</p>\n<p> The abuses he suffered in prison went far beyond anything he was accused of doing to his friend. In prison, his inmates all made sure to treat him exactly as his fellow citizens wished they could during that first horrific week.</p>\n<p> Fifteen years later, the prisoner emerged as a somewhat free man. He was permitted housing, but he first had to travel door to door, explaining what he had allegedly done to end up on that accursed list. By the time he was able to settle in at his new home, he almost believed that he actually had done all of those things.</p>\n<p> He reached out to his old friend. She was now twenty-six and married with a few children of her own. He asked to see her again, hoping to rekindle the last friendship he had.</p>\n<p> “Please don’t ever call me again. I forgave you years ago. Was that not enough? You ruined my life enough already, and I definitely am not risking the same thing happening to my children.”</p>\n<p> He told her that he was sorry. He told her that he loved her. He hung up the phone and cried, longing once more for the gun that he could no longer own. </p>\n</html>",
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}ninefoldrinupvoted (100.00%) @the-stoned-ape / the-serpentine-dance-original-poem-by-the-stoned-ape
ninefoldrinupvoted (100.00%) @the-stoned-ape / the-serpentine-dance-original-poem-by-the-stoned-ape
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}jessicanicklosupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
jessicanicklosupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
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}herbertmuellerupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
herbertmuellerupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
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}elias-jaxonupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
elias-jaxonupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
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}zaidkhalifaupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
zaidkhalifaupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
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}ninefoldrinpublished a new post: sleepless
ninefoldrinpublished a new post: sleepless
| author | ninefoldrin |
| body | <html> <p>Sleep does not find me,<br> I sit and weep.<br> She is still not by me,<br> lying fast asleep.<br> How can I go on,<br> in this life so long,<br> When love keeps me<br> so far from peace?<br> </p> </html> |
| json metadata | {"tags":["poetry","writing","story"]} |
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| permlink | sleepless |
| title | Sleepless (Original Poetry) |
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}ninefoldrinupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
ninefoldrinupvoted (100.00%) @ninefoldrin / sleepless
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}ninefoldrinpublished a new post: sleepless
ninefoldrinpublished a new post: sleepless
| author | ninefoldrin |
| body | <html> <p>Sleep does not find me,<br> I sit and weep.<br> She is still not by me,<br> lying fast asleep.<br> How can I go on,<br> in this life so long,<br> When love keeps me<br> so far from peace?<br> </p> </html> |
| json metadata | {"tags":["poetry","writing","story"]} |
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| permlink | sleepless |
| title | Sleepless |
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}steemcreated a new account: @ninefoldrin
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