The unnamed student

The unnamed student’s early years are complicated by the black bag that he wears over his head.  Teachers correct his pronunciation, the coach criticizes attitude, and the principal dresses him down for smoking.  He is a poor student.  At lunch he sits alone, feeding bell peppers and salami into the dark slot of his mouth.  In the hallway, wiry young athletes snatch at the black hood and slap the back of his head.  The captain of the football team pins him down and attempts to remove his hood.  The young man wastes him.  “Five years!” says the judge.

          The student with a hood looks up at him with utter contempt in his hard blue eyes.  His head exposed for the first time when he entered the courtroom.  His pale face, which the sun never could touch.  He sneers and shrugs.  The judge looks him up and down and asks:

“Do you have anything you’d like to say …? Anyone we could contact?”

“S**t left three years ago… dad was never around.”  He murmured in a voice low enough so that even his state-provided lawyer had to lean close to hear. 

The state-provided lawyer glances at him, and leans in whispering in his ear, inaudible to everyone else. 

“Sorry for my uh, language Your Honour…”  … muttered, again, low enough so that his state-provided lawyer could hear.  

… is approached by the security guard and is put into handcuffs.  He doesn’t resist, there’s no point, he knows he killed someone, why bother?  Three years later, he tries the same s**t again in prison, and this time, it is he who is wasted. 

Author's Note

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