To find these midnight musings quite interesting,
and that which is formed so readily.
Watch them there. Look as they stand silent, none wanting to acknowledge, pleading ignorance to the obvious. They exchange glances, unaware that their eyes betray them. How proud these people must be to deny the truth that blatantly glares at them, and from a face so newly devoid of such sheltered naivety. The curiously binding nature of a feeling of injustice, especially to oneself, that we expect to be owed at least that much. Agitation and nervousness have casually scented the atmosphere. Attempts to evade the radiating force of righteous anger have fallen to an unrelenting standstill. They will not concede to abandon their delusions and she will not forfeit without their confession of guilt.
I turn to leave and find my hands are shaking, fingernails drilling into my palms as fingers curl tightly inward. Even my body is denying what it is so forcefully faced with. No one is looking at her, as if she now possessed the suns ability to blind. The polished floor upon which we all stood invoking an immense degree of fascination. I sense the tears of frustration that she is battling to withhold but she has lost and the moisture escapes. Her shoulders collapse at the centre of a gathering of mutterings and the shaking of heads, disappointment has risen to combat the fresh desperation. Gentle hands seek earnestly to lead her from the sight of others and there is minimal effort at defiance. That bold stare connects with mine before it is buried beneath her shame.
Deep within a place I had no knowledge of, my soul is crushed.
And I don't know why.
I prefer such vagueness in defence of severe editing,
and wonder at the different perspectives it instills.