Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Joe sat at the edge of the bench, waiting . Eric hated him. Joe tapped his knees, eyes wrapped in Anna’s gaze. Eric burned to claim her service back. But Trial Judge wore black, condemned him, “Die”; hot blood grown cold, dreams going south, leaving love to Joe and the north .

Joe sat at the edge of the bench, weighting Anna’s pencil with the trial of his gaze. She sketched his features, wondering why she felt so drawn to stare. Eric had served as brother, lover, friend till Simon died. Joe smiled, lips rising north wards on his face. Anna almost cried.

Joe sat at the edge of the bench, waiting, hating the feel of the wood behind his knees. The judge droned on. The trial was nearly over, Joe’s service done. And the cold North wind blew fit to make him die for no great crime, just for waiting , for time.