Sweet Disposition: John Murphy

Kangaroo

Hello my lovelies!

Welcome to the ninth rendition of this crazy, chaotic shithole we like to call Sweet Disposition.

This is the dreaded chapter... where we all learned we had a soft spot fro Murphy, so I figured that the song had to be perfect.

I chose "The Pot" by a band that speaks to me on a spiritual level... known as Tool. I also named this chapter (as I usually do) after a lyric from the song, but I felt like it needed a bit of elaboration, seeing as it is a bit vague.

There's a lyric in the song that says, "Kangaroo done hung the juror with the innocent."and thats when I thought of this episode. The lyric is in reference to a Kangaroo Court, an unofficial court held by a group of people in order to try someone regarded, especially without good evidence, as guilty of a crime or misdemeanor... I thin you can understand how that fits in.

Anyways, Ramble over.

Home dawg is out.
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Who are you to wave your finger?

You must have been outta your head.

Eye hole deep in muddy waters.

You practically raised the dead.

Rob the grave to snow the cradle.

Then burn the evidence down.

Soapbox, house of cards and glass,

So don't go tossin' your stones around.

You must have been high.

Steal, borrow, refer, save your shady inference.

Kangaroo done hung the juror with the innocent.

Now you're weeping shades of cozened indigo

Got lemon juice up in your eye!

When you pissed all over my black kettle

You must have been high, high

Who are you to wave your finger?

So full of it.

Eyeballs deep in muddy waters

Fuckin' hypocrite.

Liar, lawyer, mirror, show me what's the difference?

Kangaroo done hung the guilty with the innocent.

~Tool, The Pot

We held a meeting that morning.

I wasn't sure why I had anything to do with it, or why I even had a say around camp, but that fact of the matter was: Clarke liked me, people trusted me, and I was one of the last people to see the face of Wells Jaha that was alive and breathing.

There wasn't much space for grieving on the ground, especially when there was a killer amongst us. I still couldn't help but feel like this was my fault. Wells didn't deserve to die. I should have known better than to leave him by himself... especially in a camp full of criminals.

All of us stood around a makeshift table in Bellamy's tent, which had become a popular meeting place for our particular group, at the expense of Bellamy's privacy. There wasn't much evidence left at the scene, except a knife and two severed fingers. They belonged to Wells. Just the sight of them- blood starved and dead- made my stomach turn. Everything depended on that one vital clue.