All the Wrong Things

Friday, August 27, 1999 They’re murmuring again. Trying to keep their voices low so the prisoner can’t hear. But the prisoner is fifteen feet away, and they are failing. I wish they would take me out of the room if they need to discuss. Bring me back to the small room I was in this morning. But, of course, they let me stand in this cage in the middle of them. On display. I pick a spot four feet in front of me and maintain my gaze. I don’t want to look at them and I don’t want to fall asleep. I feel a yawn. “Mr. Malfoy. Your next witness is here. Are you ready to proceed?” I almost smile. Do I have a choice?