2001 School Magazine

original works : 73

The Justice Star it was a typical jail cell and the man in it appeared to be a typical prisoner. Lit only by the watery, pale light of in Id afternoon that filtered half-heartedly through the barred window, the cell's walls were lost in an everlasting night. The man, lying slumped on the edge of the puddle of dim light, seemed to hug the shadows, drawing the darkness to him as a frightened child hides in his mother's skirts His uniform, once the scarlet raiment of his brigade. was tom, bloodied and in disarray The stench that rose from his Inert form spoke of a body unwashed and wounds untreated. Yet his posture. awkward as it was, was not one of defeat. His head was not bowed and the filth that covered him was not enough to dim the self-belief that shone from his face. His eyes stared at the slogan-covered posters familiar from his youth, while his lips moved feverishIy, repeating the slogans like a mantra 'The New World-Justice For AllPeoce andJustice Shall Reign in The New Wonal "Traitorl' The word was spoken with the sombre strength of a cathedral bell and echoed righteously in the small confines of the jail cell A moment later the owner of the voice stepped forward into the lethargic beam of light. A metal star on the peak of his hat glinted in the lazylight. The man on the ground rose with the slow and deliberate motions of the wounded and the weak. but he did not stumble. The two men looked at each other in silence, one shrouded in shadows. one misty in the light. The atmosphere was fraught with the apprehension that comes with a meeting long expected. A cannon was discharged somewhere in the distance followed by a volley of rule fire. breaking the tension and reminding both men that the war continued and that they were now on different sides The first punch went awry, as they often do, when the blood is not yet hot enough to compel a good man to Injure another, but fights never stop with the first punch. As blow followed blow the visitor's hat was thrown from his head in an arc The shadows provided a grim parody of their every motion as an attack was countered. as defonces were broken through Their actions took on a surreal quality as the afternoon merged with twilight and the cell descended to the depths of the ocean. While they grappled with each other the visitor spoke, asking the other man what had made him run from battle and refuse to fight. His questions went urianswered while they fought. Asif the now dim, bluelight had truly changed the air to water, their punches became slower, their foints less agile; they were spent Accuser and accused sagged, side by side against the cold, damp wall The prisoner fixed his gaze on the window of the squalid cell. though, by now. the shafts of light leaking through the heary iron bars were only the last remnants of the day that had been. His voice was hoarse. but he had to speak"There was a child, no more than a baby, justlying in the rubble. . " "It happens, "the other man interrupted brusquely, "a casualty of war. " "Yes Of our war, of the war that we are fighting!" The prisoner's voice rose in a frenzied crescendo as he spoke. When he continued his voice had dropped to a cold, dullwhispe""We killed that child. " When he heard this the visitor turned quickly to face the prisoner and grabbed violently at his shoulder. He spoke loudly and quickly with the surety of one who knows he is on familiar ground, "Have you forgotten why we are fighting? When the war is over a new world will emerge There will be peace and justice for all!" The prisoner gave his answer just as loudly and quickly as the question had been asked, though with disbelief writ large on his face, and an urgent, desperate need to be understood churning through his being, "How can you speak of justice when people are dying? How can you try to justify the murder of a child?" "In God's name!" The visitor's tone was harsh and impatient, his face twisted in a snarling grimace. "This is war -it wasn't murder!" "When is a killing not a murder?" The prisoner asked the question with the gentle simplicity of a child. As he went on, tears coursed down his face and his voice became suffused with passion, conviction and fury, spiralling ever upward in intensity and emotion "You pretend that this war will be a catalyst for change. You pretend that from a womb of destruction and killing will be born a world of peace, justice and hope. You pretend that an unprincipled creator can sculpt an ethical society. it cannot be Should the sun ever shine on the abyss in which we have buried ourselves, we will see that our civilisation has become as rotten and putrid as the corpses of the children we have killed. " The visitor rose slowly from his place on the floor. He walked to the far side of the cell and bent to retrieve his hat. The metal star that had once adorned it had become scratched and twisted. When he spoke again he stood still in the doorway, both face and voice impassive, "You will be punished for desertion. We cannot tolerate a lack of conviction in our soldiers as we strive to create a New World of peace and fairness. Justice must be done. " He did not turn to leave immediately, his face remained expressionless, but his voice dropped a lime as he added, "I must go - the war continues. " "The prisoner replied, "You are wrong. The war has already been lost. "

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Angefrque Boyce 10 Gifuon

IOCelyn Kni9h: 10 Engiond ShortstoryAssessment

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