To Perceive an Image

Fifty-Six: Images of Past Wishes

Maryanland, December 16, 2040, 9:31 AM.

Torture.

Forced deportation.

Political persecution.

The crime of apartheid

Enforced disappearances.

Three degrees of murder.

Imprisonment of previously convicted protestors.

Three people got charged with nine war crimes in a single court session with the help of my hour-long recording.

It turns out that there had been more happening to the Image World than what met my eye. Nothing could have prepared me for evidence proving murder showing up as soon as the judge spoke. All I knew came from what Flynn knew and then some from personal experience. These people have been killing and inflicting torture and harm upon anyone that escaped.

Why? Oh, because they tried to escape and expose their love for controlling the one thing they had full custody over.

I wonder if Flynn knew or if they did as good of a job fooling the victims as well.

To say I felt disgusted looking at each man in front of me would be an understatement. Being in the same room as these three made me uneasy. Every time I look at them, I think of the banishment day I saw and how some people aren't with us.

My body froze when a sudden thought hit me.

Flynn's father, is that what they did to him?

To know that he died trying to save his family shocked me, but not as much as how it repulsed me. But knowing my childhood best friend had a hand in it stopped my world. Words can't describe how sorry I am for Flynn. I had no part in this, but because Noir was such an important person to me makes me feel like I should be guilty. Like I have partial responsibility for his actions.

Flynn always speaks well of his father, and his family carries nothing but love for him. I saw how his eyes wouldn't look at mine whenever he remembered his father. The thin layer of wetness coating his eyes told me it hurt him to think about it. The last thing I want is to make him remember and talk about a heavy topic for him and his family. He already told me everything I needed to know- there's no point in asking for details.

"Your honor, Theodore Silver is my friend, we shared the knowledge of the projector. No one informed us about any potential residents. The three of us are innocent of half of these brutal accusations." Noir's grandfather, the ever so manipulative man I now know him to be, tried to fool us.

The judge looked down at the papers before him before raising an eyebrow. "Was that before or after you arranged for every event on the banishment day to move to your liking?"

That shut him up fast.

We've already spoken about this, so why is he wasting time? It's not like his lengthy list of crimes would have come forth without the initial hassle of mentioning his dear friend Theodore Silver's involvement. The man created the goddamn image world, of course, his name will come first. The Xanders don't know how storytelling works.

Wait, I should say poor Silver. I couldn't imagine a close friend using our friendship as a rite of passage to gain ownership of my invention and use it in as ill of a fashion as the Xander family did.

Even the wisest, most logical human couldn't explain why some people do the things they do and have it make sense to me. My mind can't wrap around it, and I won't force it to do so.

Some preach innocent until proven guilty, others preach guilty until proven innocent, and I preach neither. They're both as terrible as the next broken train track. Their ability to mislead everyone involved in their cause harms the innocent and forgives the guilty. Both are terrible excuses for a phrase to defend and stand by. Considering my hate for both, it is with great relief I say that neither belief got brought up by anyone. My extreme lack of desire to see them and quick admitting of evidence left no room for anyone to theorize any explanations. I lay them out on the ground without a blanket in the cold, hoping for the warm logic from a strange home to encompass them.