The Judge

You brought this upon yourself, said the judge sternly, looking down on the defendant/accuser/witness/lawyer/jury. With the Righteous fury vested in me, I must pronounce you guilty. The crowd stared at him and asked one question in unison, all expecting, What is he guilty of? He is guilty of Guilt! Of that sinful emotion, of that life sapping sensation that confuses him, when all that is obvious is obscured. I sentence you to self-exile! You can't do that the crowds screamed. And why can't I? The judge bellowed, sonorous and exultant, Je Suis Vous! Et Vous Etes Moi! I am You and You are Me! And the scene faded with a pan across the ornate, musty, delicious chocolate furnished room, into an oblivion filled only with silence and the knowledge of what he was too weak to do.