The Courtroom – Friday Fiction In Five Sentences

a cooking pot and twisted tales

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My grip on the armrest was so hard that my knuckles must have turned white.

Anger boiled inside me like a witch’s cauldron barely containing itself and the loud voices of other people in the room sounded like a roaring babble in my head.

I refused to believe the verdict that had just been handed out, but the smirk on his lips and the sneer in his eye’s said it all as I looked at him with burning intensity.

Justice has just let the man who abused and violated me walk away free; in fact, the defense counsel tarred and feathered my image till I could barely recognize the strumpet that they portrayed me to be.

It’s not over! Not by half a mile! I have a plan and he won’t know what hit him like a ton of bricks.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha


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