Executioner's Gavels

In the same motion as the executioner’s axes of old, the gavel came down.

The judge had, with that one fluid motion, given the most evil woman on Earth my car, my house, most of my possessions and money. Among the possessions I had lost were my bed, my television, my computer, my laptop with all my research notes. Without that laptop, I would be fired. My hand twitched slightly as if to wave goodbye to my life as it swirled down the metaphorical toilet of doom.

I stepped out of the courthouse and turned my gaze skywards, and in true reflection of the events that had preceeded it, a sloppy, wet, white and brownish-black mess of gunk caught me square in the face. A car shortly splashed a puddle onto my trousers.

I turned on my heel with a morose look etched upon my face, and my gaze fell upon a single man. He was slumped against the wall of the courthouse. I looked in my wallet and counted out four fities, which I put in his metal cup. My mother had always said I should treat others as I would treat myself.

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