Nothing definite was said when they walked down the road together. Along side each other. Unaware of irrelevant or relevant details about the other’s thoughts. Not a word was exchanged as their eyes locked and they danced in silence to a moonless night. No one spoke as her starry sky turned dark for him. Jolted by the moment, he waltzed away on his own. Yet, again without a word. She looked inattentively at the empty space. The skies cleared up; she pirouetted in her spot under a starry, starry night.
Man: Where do I begin?
Judge: Why don’t you begin when you bought the gun?
Man: The story began 10 years before I illegally purchased that weapon.
Judge: For what?
Man: To protect me from the mad men.
Judge: Where are these mad men?
Man: Somewhere in my neighbourhood.
Judge: Have they attacked you?
Man: They keep banging on the doors.
Judge: Didn’t you report it to the police?
Man: I did. They didn’t believe me.
Man: They said the men, the doors and the banging was happening inside my head.
Judge: But you didn’t agree?
Man: No. There was a real threat. The gun was for my protection.
Judge: Did the real man you shot threaten you?
Man: No. But he banged on my door.
Two disconnected trains of thought. Two disconnected stories.