It was a Wednesday night, the air hot and humid, the mood thick like maple syrup – sweet in taste but disgusting in texture. He sat looking right into my eyes, across from me. He needed that chance to vent and to reconcile. I was his judge that was supposed to acquit him of all his wrongdoings.

The night was short and unwelcomed. Every soul dreaded it and wanted it to be over and done with. Since when did a night so completely fail to retain its nightly appeal, every soul thought. Words were amply flowing across the room while the inattentiveness of every mind seemed a ghastly contrast.

No conclusion was reached or made. No deal was struck. No life was taken. Things were destined to remain.