The Scales of Friendship and Justice🔊

In the quiet town of Vermillion, South Dakota, lived a man named Howard Forrester, a respected judge who was known to everyone. For decades, he handed down justice with an even hand, soothing the scales in town with unerring wisdom. However, Howard wasn't always a man of the law. There was a time when he lived life on the run, a time he buried deep within him, forgotten till a certain old face walked into town.

This man was Frank Calhoun, a charismatic troublemaker, with faded tattoos and a guitar strapped to his back. Frank was Howard's past brought back to life, a walking time capsule from the days when they were boys, stealing apples and nightingales' eggs, fishing in the cold Dakota waters, dreaming young dreams. The duo had shared dreams, until they weren't young anymore, until choices had to be made, which took Howard towards dusty books of law and Frank to the timeless nomadic tunes of his guitar.

One day, Frank was accused of a petty theft in Vermillion, a bizarre coincidence, a simple twist of fate that placed his old friend Howard in the judge's seat at the trial. When Howard recognized Frank, memories came rushing back, inflicting upon his unyielding mind the kind of damage time alone could heal.

Howard was torn between friendship and duty; he knew Frank, knew his charming tricks, his mischievous sway. Howard, the law-abiding citizen, wondered: should he shroud his past to uphold his duty, or should he let it cloud his judgment?

One evening, at an old bar they had frequented as boys, Howard found Frank strumming his guitar, lost in a melody as old as their friendship. Howard approached him cautiously; they locked eyes, and time seemed to fold back on itself where words didn't matter.

Frank started talking about their past days. Those endless summers and snowy winters, the laughter and bubblegum days, their wild dreams and foolish dares, those days when they thought they could conquer the world together. Howard found himself lost in the past, with laughter echoing in his ears and a sweet, nostalgic ache building up in his chest.

However, breaking free from the pleasant wave of nostalgia, Howard confronted Frank about the theft. There was silence first, then Frank smiled, his eyes filled with sadness - the melody of his guitar trailing off into nothingness.

Frank admitted to his wrong, stating the hardship life had dealt him. Frank didn’t ask for mercy, rather acceptance from his old friend, Howard. Howard, the law man, brooded over Frank's words for days, reliving their past, his heart aching from an old wound, reopened and raw.

Finally, the day of the trial arrived. Howard sat in the judge's seat, tension wrinkling his forehead, memories clouding his mind. Frank stood in front of him, regret etched on his face. He pleaded guilty to his crime, head bowed. Howard was silent for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. As law stood in front of friendship, the scales of justice seemed to waver.

In the end, Howard made his decision. He had no choice but to uphold justice. He sentenced Frank, but with a lenient punishment, given his prior clean record in Vermillion.

Donning his judge’s robe that day, Howard proved why he was so highly respected in Vermillion. The town saw him as a beacon of justice. However, he felt a twinge of sorrow each time he saw his old friend, Frank, laboring in the public works as part of his sentence.

The legend of Judge Howard remained etched in the history of Vermillion, a tale of justice served, even as it was dressed in the robes of friendship and past memories. It was a tale of rising above one’s personal biases, about defending truth, and upholding justice.