The Trial: Prologue

         The sweet water sat on the oak wood table. It taunted me, knowing I couldn't touch it, knowing I couldn't quince my thirst. An assortment of food and soups laid out on the table, a feast made for a king. It to taunted me, knowing I couldn't touch it, knowing I couldn't quite my rebellious stomach. I just wanted a sip of that fresh clear water, I just wanted a taste of that plump juicy turkey. So close to my lips, my tounge just wont reach that far.

         The soft glow from the classical chandeller hanging above me swallowed the room and everything in it. One window implanted its self in the wall to my left. It let no light in, nothing could be seen outside. A door stood to my right, it was flimsy, I've broken it with my bare fist before, but when I crossed the threshold I just found myself in the room, eveything back to normal, a window behind me. I sat in an oakwood chair. On the other side of the table sat three more empty ones. I was alone.

         A grandfather clock stood in the right corner in front of me. It stood there ticking, all day just ticking. It mocks me, reminds me of how long God has forgotten me in this hell. I just glare at it now, anger building up in my throat. I hate that feeling, it's so hard to control and almost impossable to contain.I wish it would just shut up, just long enough for me to relax and think.

         "Shut up" I scream.

         It doesn't listen, no instead it just continues to tick, it just doesn't know when to stop mocking someone. My anger cannot be contained any longer. I raise knocking over my chair, I then flip the table with such grace and ease that it frightened me how strong I was when angry. The table crushed the other chairs and the feast. I break off a leg of the table and storm over to the clock. It stared at me without fear, and continued to mock me.

         "Why aren't you afraid! Be scared!"

         It continued to tick, so to show that I wasn't joking I swung the leg at the clocks glass door. It shattered with one hit, one lousy swing.

         "What about now?"

         It continued to tick, and I was out of mercy. So with great ease I swungt again, but didn't stop. When my weapon broke I realized that the clock was no more than a pile of shattered glass and splintered wood. It frightened me, how strong I was when angered.

         I turn to the window, it sat in the wall, dark and silent. I couldn't tell if it was afraid or not. It just sat there, silent.

         "Where's the light?" I scream.

         It' didn't answer, just sat there, dark and silent.

         "A smart ass, eh? I now what to do with you."

         I swung my fist at it. The first time it simply cracked it, but when I hit it the second time my hand went through. It burned in the dark a searing pain not felt by anyone else in the entire universe, not that I know of anyway. I pulled my hand back and it returned to normal temperature, but what is really strange is the fact that I wasn't bleeding. Just really deep cut marks in my arm, it was strange.

         I turned around staring at my arm in confusion, when I looked up I found the door. My anger was back, I want out, I will get out.

         "Open." I ordered.

         It did not respond.

         "Rebelling against me? No I don't think so, not today."

         I charged at it breaking through it the very first try. But like every other time I just fond my self in a classic looking dinning room, clean. A feast for a king on the table and a window behind me.

         I walked to the window and leaned my head on it and began to pray.

         "Sit Mr.Legrasse." an order barked behind me. I guess I'm not alone.

(TO BE CONTINUED...)