Troy's Amulet

Chapter 1: The Trial

Chapter 1: The Trial

The heavy chains latched around my feeble wrists weighed heavily on my pride, snatching every last morsel of self-confidence I had into nonexistence. I studied the deep scrapes and scratches on the dull, corpulant metal shackles, studied the grooves that made perfect chairs for my thumbs, studied the chips and breaks on the edges. The cuffs seemed to stain my wrists with sin. It was as if the shackles had drained the badness out of all it's previous occupants, containing the darkness in some unknown oblivion, saving them up for the day when I would don the disheartening irons and absorb the wrongdoings into my veins. It was like I was taking the blame for the actions of complete strangers and it was staining my soul.

As I contemplated my position, a firm voice ran throughout the dank courtroom, snatching me from my reverie. "Her final sentence is still unknown as we have not come to a righteous solution." The overweight judge with an english accent sputtered, overanunciating the t's in all of his words. I blew air through my teeth. How long would I have to endure biased trial by biased jury before they came to the conclusion that I would be given the death sentence? They would simply just act shocked and surprised afterwards as if it was something that had been previously out of the question and everyone would get along with their lives after I was gone.

The plethora of dirt swirling around in the wind circled my feet, creating a wreath. I wished fervently for concrete floors, wished for air conditioning once more, wished monarchy hadn't abolised democracy, wished economizing didn't mean ridding the country of modern technology. The etchings on the walls of the courtroom depicted these events as a renaissance of modern knowledge, a time of peace and wisdom. To me, it was just another unlucky happening of being born in the wrong era.

Examining the black wreath of dirt enveloping me, I fell from the conscious realization of my trail and let myself drift into a flashback of life before prison.

In Crimirin, people with differences had become a prestigious topic of gossip among commoners, including my family. To be the parent of a witch or atheist was synonymous to being a rapist, a murderer, disgraceful. I had seen people get convicted of doing magic or being in same sex relationships, etc... how their families shunned them, and couldn't help but think Well, I'm glad my parents genuinely love me. I was wrong. My family took no shame in ignoring my pleas of mercy or letting the guards whisk me away for hours and days and weeks and months of trials after I was convicted of being a witch.

Then from there, the trials went like this. I would explain that I had acquired my blue ivy amulet from a local flea market from a man with black, twisted hair and a long conquistador mustache and the jury would rule that no such attendent worked the flea market. If I tried to even disagree with that notion, they would resort to the fact that flea markets were for the shunned anyways and what was I doing there? That was how things were. I had no say in the jury that had my verdict predestined. And even then, if I did, questions then came about how an amulet could possibly allow a teenager to project her personal fantasies, wishes, and imaginary ideas into reality and I would be left speechless. Then they would chain me back in a dark dungeon somewhere and leave me be.

The judge continued in his thick drone.

"Our options are one of two. The death sentence," Shocker. "Or...the walk." He blithered to the courtroom full of people, absent my family. I rolled my eyes at the theatrical production all my trials turned into with this judge. He was made of suspense and drama.

"How about we stop procrastinating and say whats really in our thoughts?" I interuppted with the stern question, stupidly. "I am not a witch!" I heard myself scowl as if I had never tried that form of approach at this point. "I was only there because my parent..." I stopped. Mad as I was, this was my trial. I began again, "I told you the man at the flea market gave it to me free of charge-" Before I could finish, the judge's bailiff decided to give his two cents.

"Free of charge." He laughed, stepping forward with two loud thuds of his leather boots. "In these economic times that is just another term for stealing!" He accused. I offered another sigh of frustration, narrowing my dull green eyes on the bailiff to tell him that I frankly didn't care about his input, but saying nothing for fear of another charge. The intimidation that radiated from him struck my nerves badly and I tensed, refusing to let my discomfort be evident. The judge extended an open palm at the officer to cease him from displaying his opinion further and he studied the shuffle of documents on his table. A bunch of dishonest statements about me in court black and white. Fantastic.

"Jury?" He croaked. A tall man at the front of the jury section shot up from his chair with a shiver-inducing smirk. His jaw was thick and squarely lined with bone, strong, determined. His toned midsection showed through the red shirt and pitch black vest that formed around his muscles, plastered to his torso. He spoke.

"We have reached a verdict, actually, your honor. The prisoner, Katherine Avalon Smithe, is guilty of witchcraft. The punishment has been determined. She must be transportated to Galena for permanent sentence." He said in a stern, sure voice. The judge gave a nod of assurance, his powder white curls slipping down and up his protruding shoulders covered with his robes.

"The walk." He muttered under his sharp breath. "Very well than. I sentence Katherine Avalon Smithe to the walk." My stomach dropped. "The method used to force her to admit her wrongdoings in pre-sentence is up to the mind of her guard." He said, about to snap his gavel to the sound block before turning to my guard beside me that held the chains removing my right to freedom. "What shall be the method, Mr. Darwin?" The judge wondered, cocking his head.

"Torture." The Guard Darwin smiled a twisted, yellow-toothed smile, a terrifying glint overcoming his dark eyes as he flashed a glance at me. I swallowed hard. Torture.

Pre-sentence consisted of hard labor, a prisoner admitting their crimes, and then preparation for the sentence. Some said it was the worst part of sentencing and was very effective in confessions. Here I was, my pre-sentence being the worst form imaginable.

I had been a witness to people being driven into insanity by those means. I had read about ancient roman torture from 15 BC and middle eastern torture from the 20th century, both derivities of our modern societies. Flogging, water submergence, beatings, etcetera. I was a 15 year old girl and though I was stubborn, I couldn't mask the fear building inside of me at that moment in time.

The judge nodded to The Guard Darwin, smashing his splintered gavel on the wooden sound block before saying, "Court dismissed."

Those two words began my demise.