William Sean Coney
I chased a magical white substance to a small hole. I was not alone. My lover and part time friend gave me the extra courage to take the plunge. She did not survive the fall.
I had found an entry point to another reality. Entering the criminal justice system offered a new perspective. Immediate personal annihilation allowed me to watch bonds stretch to unnatural dimensions. Family and friends held on as long as they could as I fell.
Acquaintances and spectators saw my shadow by the light of the TV news. Their faces faded to memories beyond the horizon of my concern.
A stranger’s voice assured me that the death penalty was off the table but I better take a deal. The smell of my lost lover and future guardian angel‘s perfume accompanied the whispers in my ear. “Tell them to go to hell,” she said. The stranger walked away, angry and convinced of something I couldn’t comprehend.
I just needed to get high so I could think.
Time is relative on the inside. If you are not related to the court in one way or another you become a number. Time is also related to the space between that hole and the prosecutor's neighborhood. If you are an outsider, the space between your birthplace and the hole will also enter the equation.
This special theory of relativity on the inside is why everyone can guess how much time you have. They just need to know where you fell and where you’re from. It’s not the math we learned in school. It’s called politics and most people don’t even know they voted for the people that tend the holes.
It’s really hard to let people know about your discovery because you were annihilated and assassinated by television radiation.
She knew the system and tried to tell me from a pillow talk past. Those lessons came clear too late. Living to make her love have meaning is how I spend my time. It’s all relative.
Painting by Gwynne Duncan