Honaker 1Molly HonakerSOC 151Mrs. LanphierNov. 13, 2022A Reflection I Cannot RecognizeI never imagined I would end up here. I sat completely motionless in my chair ascommotion overtook the room. The walls seemed so long that all their voices bounced off thewalls and rattled on the inside of my head. The decorations of the courtroom seemed to scream atme with taunting’s of justice. Justice, I knew these people were demanding to be executed. Theirwords sounded like white noise as I was faced with exactly what I had done. Me? I did all ofthis? My heart started to beat wildly in my chest as guilt washed over me like I was dipped inice. ‘What a funny feeling’ I thought, or perhaps it was just fear. The icy chill of myconsequences slithered around my ankles and climbed my legs in a vice. Pins and needles startedto prick at my fingers as the ice continued to freeze my body in this chair. It inched its way upmy torso making my lungs seize, and my breathing to catch. That ice gripped around my neckand sealed my fate. I watched the gavel strike down on the wooden block and a breath enteredback into my body as the voices went silent. That moment of silence felt like an eternity to me.That small moment of stillness was enough for me to question everything. How did I becomethis person? (NIH).Earlier in the courtroom:I was led into the courtroom, my hands and ankles bound in cuffs and this annoyingbright orange jail suit rubbed and created a pesky annoyance for me. This attire was notcomfortable and I stuck out like a sore thumb. My curly hair was down and wild, which I am
Honaker 2sure reaffirmed how horrific I appeared to everyone who was looking at me. They got courtstarted, did all their boring legal stuff, ya-da ya-da. It was so boring I even yawned. I picked atmy nails, the burn of my cuticles getting ripped off making me smirk. How comforting, Ithought, the color red oozing from my skin now. It got much less boring as I saw mygrandmother. I was rather shocked and even felt my mouth gape open a little bit. I had not seenher in many years. If I recall, the last age I remember seeing her was around 8 years old.Suddenly, red was not so comforting. Her face and voice hit me with memories I had not thoughtof in years. The lawyer began to question her, starting with simple questions, then he moved toask her about me.It went on and on, and the more I listened to her talk about them, the more the memoriesflashed up behind my eyes like a movie projector. I took a deep breath and readjusted myself toease the tension building in my body. I looked back down to my nails and my eyes gazed downat the scars covering my arm. It is almost like I could smell my own flesh burning off all overagain. I scoffed at the memories of my father, and the constant cigarettes he smoked. He wasalways drunk, breaking his ash trays and deemed me the perfect dish to extinguish his cigs. Italmost looked like I was a lady bug as the dots covered my arm from top to bottom, scatteredlike beads. I raised my head back up as she recounted how the son she raised decided to rape andmolest his daughter for years; she was talking about me. My father was the real monster. As akid, I saw him as the devil and at times I saw him with horns and a tail in my dream. That searingpain a tase of the hellfire that was waiting for me. Lord knows he constantly reminded me and
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