02-13-2011, 05:58 PM
These chairs were god awful uncomfortable, Jack thought, shifting yet again as the pompous prosecutor swaggered to and fro in front of the judge and jury. Jack had realized long ago that there was no real point in listening to anything that happened in this theater of a courtroom. He, along with two other people in this courtroom knew the truth. The truth is as follows: Tom is guilty. Jack doesn't want his love to go to jail, all bravado and pretending, but he knows that Tom is guilty. Another truth: The defense hasn't done a good enough job of hiding this fact.
Jack shakes his leg, tapping impatiently against the creaky floorboards. He really wanted a cigarette, high stress situations just made him hum, and a few puffs sometimes quieted his tension. Instead of leaving, Jack fixated on the back of Tom's neck, facing resolutely toward the judge. It had been almost 6 months since Tom had been hauled away from their shared home in Boston. 6 months was a long time, and if Tom got convicted as Jack believed he would... it was going to be even longer. But then, Jack was of a mind that truth was the most important thing.
Truth?
Jack didn't give a damn how long the sentence was, another six months wouldn't be allowed to pass before he brought Tom home.
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