White Lies

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dawns a courtroom closing in on midday, and a cheery sun uncovering its place being less demanding--a sage who dons sufficiently in her vocation that imparts one who bears a respectable position, and one of a high office--so without delay, the judge withdraws to his chambers for consultations with the defense attorney and prosecutor, et al., she then advances towards the lone defendant from her private seat in the gallery--an officer of the court, immediately takes notice of her movements and in anticipation presented her with a chair for her pleasure--the defendant who sees her, respectfully stands, whereto, she politely informs him that he may remain seated and air him in a one-sided conversation being the soul speaker, and he as the soul listener. Albeit, exceptions to that disclosure evolved at the end as there is cause for the conversation to become ironic. *The opener of My Short Story: White Lies, in two parts; I'm afeared of old habits unchanged as alit surface, amid dim, and aligned depth of mired cliché, sways a gavel 'ere ...