“I would again”. Her cold eyes stared into mine.
And a shiver travelled down my spine.
As I sat across the table before her.
And heard her utter those words blankly.
To me, her lawyer.
“I lost my father eight years ago, in July.” She continued. “He was buried in September after we struggled to raise funds for his funeral. One morning, three days to his funeral, I was accosted by three young men at about 6am, while on my way to get food supplies. They overpowered me. And took all I had on me; including my innocence.”
She paused and turned her gaze to the window, her eyes now pale.
I recalled stealing glances at her towards the dock, during the trial.
She had maintained that chilly look all through.
“I still shudder when I recall it.” Her voice shook. “And when this man confronted me that fateful day in the alley, my mind flashed back to the events of that dark morning.”
She turned her gaze to me. “Don’t urge me to admit that I’m sorry because I’m not. If the same scenario replayed itself, I would do what I did again. I would stab him to death”. Her eyes glowed with rage.
Somewhere in those eyes I saw a little girl, whose heart had died a hundred times before today.
Which was to be her last.
I said a silent prayer for her as she left the papers unsigned, and the warder led her away.
I learn lessons and I tell stories
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