There is a hearing in the courtroom. You sheepishly pull yourself together to the stand. This is a case against you.

A drop of a nervous sweat trickles down your forehead as you wipe it away before anyone can see it. This is the dominion where you are put to the test of life.

You are the accused but the twist in the tale is that you are the prosecutor.

Your life till now is discussed at great length. The highs are overshadowed by the lows, the simpler times are forgotten and the tougher, turbulent ones prevail. That drop of nervous sweat that you managed to wipe away is up for public display now.

You are the accused, you are the prosecutor and you are the judge.

This is the battle within you. A battle that you lose, a battle that you win, but you are always rooting for the underdog so what remains is the weight of the loss that makes gravity unbearable.

A cross-examination becomes a sort of introspection where the benefit of a doubt to yourself is denied because of you, the prosecutor has a strong case against you, the defendant.

Soon you no longer defend and participate in the mockery of you. The lows become the pillars on which you judge yourself and the tough times tell you of your incapabilities of your incapability to overcome your incapabilities.

The hearing comes to an end. You, the judge has to make a decision. A voice from the audience whispers “The defendant didn’t defend at all. How can the judge, judge on the basis of one perspective?” The whisper remains a whisper and becomes a part of the air that the defendant inhaled. For a moment he mustered up the courage to, for once, speak up but then, he exhaled the same whisper back to redundancy.

All you want to hear are the echoes of the gavel to break you of the echo chamber you’ve been living in. You, the judge adjust your spectacles which you don’t need and read from the blank paper below. A judgement based on one stream of thinking, never holding two thoughts against each other. A judgement that you made fighting against yourself, never hearing your own point.

The judge repeats what he thought of the case, “an exercise in excellence by the prosecutor to let silence show the guilt of the defendant. I, hereby, grant myself a sentence of self-hate, depression, anxiety, lack of hope. The period of being hard on yourself will continue till the defendant isn’t perfect.”

The crowd roars in unison, except the whisperer. He whispers quietly to the audience of one. You, the defenceless.

“There is hope. Only if you speak up.”

You hear that and hold your breath, to not exhale that thought.

You stand.

They finally hear.

Does this end happily for you? Well, it’s for you to decide.

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