The Charity of Good Men

When charity begins, where will the taking stop?

Have you ever put yourself in a position where, even though you know you are doing the right thing, for the right reasons, it causes every millilitre of blood inside to you boil almost uncontrollably?

He rose and went, willingly though with trepidation, to the dock. To stand before a guilty judge knowing, beyond possible sway, the standard of his own innocence. Believing that justice and righteousness had their eyes closed and ears focused on someone else’s prayers. Yet, times likes these called for measures like these or the accepted walk into times unlike these. It wasn’t fear that kept him in the region. He was brave yet bravery meant little today and would mean less tomorrow, for the truth had not set him free. Why was he here? This region had had as many droughts as full harvests and his eyes longed to see the seas of the east and the shores at the base of the southern cliffs. It was, simply put, just the thing that was closest to right thing to do.

He would have to bear the punishment handed out and his heart would have to accept that righteousness is a burden heavier than all others. It requests silence and reservation in times when one has all rights to stamp and shout, calm when the winds of rage blow strong and urge change. He was a convict now and the story will show that justice was done. Only he will know what is written between the lines and that will have to satisfy.

“Guilty” Croaking was all that was heard, it was enough.

Immediate unbearable heat raced through every limb, his heart thumped and struggled against his ribs as if seeking existence beyond this fabrication.
His lips were moving, “I throw myself on the mercy of the court and accept my fate for I have done wrong and deserve…” he was aware he was still talking his way into his coffin yet he could no longer listen.

Time ceased. Silence fell. Frozen, he watched the room erupt and in their eyes he saw that he had lived his last day.

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