The foreman of the jury stood up,

Published: Tuesday, 03 July 2012 Written by Gail Parillon

The foreman of the jury stood up, “What is your verdict? Guilty or not guilty?” asked the judge. A h

A single silhouette stood eerily out of the barely lit and deserted street with the flickering of the street lamp raising the tension thick in the air.


“So … you called me here?” an audible grunt was heard in response to her statement, “Tell me all that you know … now.” She intended to speak with confident intimidation but it barely came out as a squeak. She stood there, quivering in the night time arctic cold; cinnamon-shaded eyes scanning the dark for any other signs of humanity beside her and the stranger. Seeing none, her body trembled again but from shivers of fear.


“You know … that's not what I came here for.” the gruff voice, a male persona, shot back with irritation heard clearly in his tone. She sneered, angered at his indignant attitude for she had very precious little time, not nearly enough time.


“Yes it is! And you know it!” She cried out irate, her voice echoing throughout the street and resounding back to her. With her volume growing, she shouted again, “This isn't some friendly meeting!” She desired to lash out, rush at this person and beat the information from him by force. The woman tightened her fists until her knuckles shone white, while the silhouette chuckled deeply and mockingly only proving to anger her further.


“Yes my dear,” he cooed, a devilish grin growing across his sickly, pale skin; dead cold as the frigid breeze that blew through the area. Before her eyes, he emerged into the flickering light, causing her to hold her breath as he tilted off his fedora, “This is strictly a case of murder.”


“You …” was all she could murmur, her fisted hand falling limp under his gaze, her eyes tracing over that familiar face-length cured scar as he made his way towards her.


This was the first time, in all her life, had she ever feared someone so much. It was obvious, that the fighting spirit, the zeal and hope she once had was decimated. Her legs remained rooted to gravel-coated street, her lips trembling and her eyes void of any life. She knew it, he had won. She was tired, too tired to run again.


“Miss me, darling?” Whispering softly to her, he leaned his head on her shoulder. Immediate repulsion filled her as he tugged on her onyx tresses playfully. She wanted to curse him, violently curse

him to a slow, tormented death.


“No … can't say I have.” she uttered miserably, tears rising from her eyes, threatening to cascade down the length of her face. Only God knew how tired she was. Hearing his sigh of disapproval, she felt something solid jab into her stomach. With large, uncertain eyes, she stared into those enigmatic, cerulean orbs that only proved his love was non-existent. Some satisfied triumph filled her as she realized how his once handsome visage was obscure and ugly, projecting how he looked on the inside. The charismatic, understanding man was truly a murderer in more ways than one.


“Too bad,” a faux grin filled his face and her eyes never left his, she saw his resolve crumble a bit, “you could have had it all, babe.” hearing the cranking of the gun, she was tossed back some weeks ago when she was the one who elicited that vile cranking motion.


Standing over him, she felt some level of power as he snivelled away begging for his pitiful life. A renewed feeling of sweet victory filled her; never again would he lay his hands on her, never again would she have her smooth, peach skin bruised so brutally.


“Please, think about what you're doing.” he whimpered, looking like a kicked dog. It was laughable to see such a sight. He was huddled in a corner, practically begging for the life now held with the decision of pulling the trigger. For a moment, she appeared crazed, causing him to shrink away holding onto his arm. The red liquid squirted uncontrollably from the wound, his breathing heavy and terrified as sweat, tears and blood mingled into one identifiable aroma. She watched as his jade eyes traced a pattern between her face and the gun.


“I have thought … you wouldn't believe how many times I did.” but one time proved to convince her, when she met that man, the one who held her so tenderly and made her heart swell. Despite his lifestyle, she still loved him and his charismatic, charming ways. Surely, he was right, that this gun could fix all her troubles. With a dead spouse, she and he could be together. Surely.


With cold, unforgiving russet orbs she watched him and for the first time her heart sank. She reduced him even lower than an animal. Trembling, her hold on the ground became loose as she recalled, many years ago, she once loved him too.


“I knew you wouldn't have been able to do it,” a disappoint sigh was heard behind her, tilting his fedora off his head, his steely blue eyes pierced hers, “so you don't want us to be together?” for a second, she mulled over his words. Finding her silence filled with hesitation, his anger escalated knowing that she still possessed a smidgeon of love for that man. Something predatory took over his heart, instantly clouding his judgement.


“Wait!” she cried out audibly as she watched him stride over to the fallen man. Wasting no time, she launched herself onto him and was tossed aside. Regaining her senses, her eyes focused onto a gun emerging from his suit coat.


“Please … don't …” it was to laugh that she loved that deplorable excuse of a man. Albeit it was so true, he couldn't help but let jealousy fill his heart. Gritting his teeth, his handsome features were

twisted into a macabre expression. Never more in his life had he wanted someone dead.


“You love him, huh?” rage filled his normally warm baritone, “Then, you'll suffer for him.” without hesitation, with the firm, steady arm and hand of a killer, he shot with just one bullet and ended it himself. Her horrified scream pierced the area as he strode up to her as she sat shaking. Her eyes connected with that of the corpse laying dead, void eyes staring so accusingly at her. Being pulled to her feet, for a brief second she saw the hurt that flickered through his once warm baby blues before she was knocked out with everything fading to darkness.


It was three weeks since all these events had passed and, of course, she was convicted of the crime. Upon entering the court, she could look up straight and she staggered hesitantly to arrive at her trial. The courtroom was flooded with the early morning light and persons from citizens to camera men were there. Keeping her head down, while staring at the granite floor, she trudged and made her way before the judge with derogatory words falling upon her ears. Feeling those piercing eyes remain on her back, she suddenly felt so guilty. But she was innocent. Was she innocent?  Her finger prints were imprinted on everything and there was no time wasted in accusing her. She may have pleaded, she may have cried and she may have prayed but now she sat in the burgundy vinyl court chairs.


For a moment, she allowed her russet focus on the jury and there he sat, causing nausea to hit her. The merciless murderer sat there with a pleased expression his face; those same azure orbs stared startlingly sharp at her with his own eyes twinkling in silent victory.


The foreman of the jury stood up, “What is your verdict? Guilty or not guilty?” asked the judge. A hushed silence fell over the court. Her head was swirling, her thoughts clouded as they read the verdict. At once, nausea washed over her, overwhelming her and her heart thumped loudly. “Guilty.”

It rang in her ears mockingly as her eyes rose dejectedly to his face. That once handsome visage that she once loved was now twisted in deep resentment yet a triumphant smirk crossed his face. In his chagrin, a smirk crossed her own face that was directed towards him.


A discreet plan formulated in her mind as her vision cleared. Letting her eyes fall upon the glass of water on the table before her, she murmured inconspicuously to her lawyer, “I'm thirsty … can I have something to drink?” and with that she held the glass in her hand. In one fluid motion, she disposed of the water, breaking the glass on the edge of the table and haphazardly making a dash towards the jury. Not even the bellows of all those in court nor the officers could stop her in her mad dash. With the smell of the red metallic liquid wafting to her nose, she knew the damage had been done.


His violent curses filled the air and his blood sullied her clothes; the dirty blood of a killer, “You killed him!!! You killed him!!!” she screeched whilst being carried away by the officers. Tears mingled in his blood and she flailed her legs with her face strained. She jerked her body and anger convulsed through her. She would escape and he would suffer.


Days passed and she finally was granted her wish during a prison break out. Within the ecstasy of fumbling and parade of fighting and spurs of violence, she slipped through unnoticed. While sporting a bleeding lip, with her ebony locks in a tangled mess, she made her way back into civilization. Only she could blame herself, for her determination to find him lead to her own demise.


She was pulled from her thoughts, hearing the muffled sobs escape him and she could see it was paining him, “I loved you … you could have had it all.” he mused again and her hand lifted to his face, her fingers once again tenderly caressing his scared skin for the last time. Instantly, those unmistakably sombre pair of sapphires locked with hers. Only God knew how she was so tired.


“But I wasn't too sure I wanted you.” she whispered and hearing his final bellow of agony, a bullet tore through her insides. Her hand disappeared from his face as she descended onto the frigid asphalt. Those hazel eyes that once played life, in all its intricacies, in them, now only held the unbiased look of death.


The police found her later that day, with no one to tell the length of her melancholic tale and maybe it was for the best. The melancholic tale of Serene May, the woman who tangoed and led on fate, till the final step.

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