The courthouse had an extremely unique odor that quickly identified it and caused ones insides to turn at the same time. Through each nook and cranny of the oversized room, built with the sole purpose of weighing an individual’s guilt or innocence, an unmistakeable odor wafted. It consisted of a much less than elegant combination of rotting wood, dust, and the smell of old burlap. The mixture of sweat and perfumes did nothing to overtake the raw smell that had been lingering in this very room for decades.
The ceilings were vaulted, to say the least. Rising a good fifty feet in the center of the room, the ceiling makes it so that sound has its way of working into even the smallest corner of the room. The acoustics of the room make it so that, without raising his voice, the seated judge can be heard clearly through out the room. It is a marvel of the early architecture of the building, but is no longer used, the voice of the judge being carried via the electronic superhighway.
A rather abrasive voice, not meant to be pleasant, comes through the crackle of a speaker, “Have you anything to say before the jury presents its verdict?” The judge’s voice could jar the insides of the most firm in a snap of the fingers. It was never offered the practice necessary to dominate such a large room.
To be continued…