Flawed / Perfect. Cecelia Ahern

my seat beside Mr Berry.

      “What’s happening?” I ask him, and he shrugs, looking just as confused as I am.

      “Ms Celestine North, please stand,” Crevan says.

      I stand, my legs shaky beneath me. My mum clings to my dad. My granddad’s cap is in his hand as he clutches it tightly, his knuckles white.

      I stand alone in the courtroom and realise this is how it will be for the rest of my life, standing alone, branded Flawed for ever because of one act.

      I hear doors burst open, and the three judges look up.

      “Don’t do this,” a voice shouts from the door.

      It’s Art. I turn around. The disguise is gone.

      “Art,” I say to him, afraid, and hear the quiver in my voice.

      “Order in the court,” Judge Crevan says, banging his gavel.

      “Don’t do this to her!” he yells again.

      “Restrain him,” Crevan says, looking down, moving his paperwork around, nervously.

      Two members of security grab his arms, and he yells and struggles as they pull him from the room. I look away, turn to the front, eyes back to the ground.

      “Shall I continue?” Judge Sanchez asks Crevan in her smooth voice, all honey and calm.

      “No!” he snaps. “Celestine North,” he says, looking up at me, eyes wild and bloodshot. He means business now. “Your so-called bravery in court suggests you wish to be a poster girl, and we don’t take poster girls lightly. Not when the message you portray is dangerous to society. We see you as a poison that is prepared to inflict itself on our good and proper society. So take this to the people, poster girl.

      “It is rare for any accused to receive more than one branding, but if you are to be looked at and adored by some in society, then let them see your flaws wherever they look. We must also take into account the seriousness of your actions, that they were carried out publicly, with an audience. This was not a private event that hurt a few. It was public and has become even more so. You have attracted the world’s attention,Ms North, and for that we must send a message. I will now name your brands.”

       Brands?

      He pauses and the room is so silent I’m sure everyone can hear my heartbeat.

      “For stealing from society, you will be branded on your right hand. Whenever you go to shake the hands of any decent people in society, they will know of your theft.”

      People start to talk, thinking he’s finished, but as he continues, they silence themselves.

      “For your bad judgement, your right temple.”

      Two brands. And he continues to gasps.

      “For your collusion with the Flawed, for walking alongside them and for stepping away from society, the sole of your right foot. Every time you connect with the earth, even it will know that you are Flawed to the very root of you.”

      As he continues with a fourth Flaw, the audience protests again. Three brandings so far and continuing, it is unheard of. Only one person has ever received three brandings in the history of the Guild.

      “For your disloyalty to the Guild and all of society, your chest, so that if anyone should wish to trust or love you in the future, they will see the mark of your unyielding disloyalty over your heart.

      “And, finally, for the very fact that you lied to this court about your actions, your tongue, so that anyone you speak to or kiss will know that your words fall from a branded tongue and cannot be trusted for the rest of your life.”

      Explosion in the courtroom. People are cheering, celebrating the justice that has been done, the scum that has once again been recognised in society. Others are shouting with anger at the judges for a great injustice. Even more than before, now that they have heard the ruling. I have gained supporters, but not many, and what use is that to me now? It is too late. Naming Day has come, and I have faced my worst fear: brandings, and not just one but five. It is unheard of.

      My legs are shaking so much they buckle beneath me, and Mr Berry makes a weak attempt to catch one arm, but his heart isn’t in it. Tina rushes to my side immediately and catches me. June takes my other arm, and I’m taken out through the hysterical public in the courtroom, out the main door, and across the courtyard, where I am shouted and spat at. Objects are pelted at me, extra security hold the crowds back as they pulsate at me, more journalists than any other day hold cameras in my face, and I can barely see past the flashbulbs. I briefly see a large screen on the wall of Highland Castle and realise that my case has been aired for the public to see outside, and a huge crowd gathers beyond the barricade, many sitting on deck chairs.

      I arrive back at the holding cell, covered in whatever filth people have spat and thrown at me, my ears ringing from the name-calling, my eyes still seeing the camera flashes. I try to adjust to the new light but find it hard. I trip and stumble, but Tina keeps me up. I’m aware of Tina’s and June’s worried glances at each other. They sit with me; they’re as jittery as I am.

      I notice they’re covered in the same stuff I am.

      “Sorry,” I say to both of them.

      June looks surprised by my apology.

      “We’re used to it,” Tina says, brushing off some egg yolk. “Just not this much. Look, this is new to all of us. How about tea for everyone?”

      June nods and goes to the guards’ kitchen.

      “I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” Tina leaves me. “I have to advise you to read the folder over there.”

      The Flawed file, which prepares me for my new future.

      As soon as she leaves, Carrick arrives back, accompanied by Funar, racing in at top speed, as though he can’t get back fast enough. He looks at me with concern. Big black eyes, worried, lost. He enters his cell and goes straight to the wall that divides us. I remember the first day, when he turned his back on me. This time he places his left hand up to the glass.

      I don’t know what he’s doing, but when he doesn’t remove it, it suddenly makes sense. I join him at the window and raise my right hand up to the cool glass, pressing it flat against his. My hand looks like a doll’s hand next to his, and I realise that the glass that I felt separated us is the only thing that connects us. I rest my forehead on the glass, and his hand goes to my face, then away again as it hits the glass.

      I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but I start to cry. We never speak.

      

      The “fresh clothes” that Tina returns with turn out to be nothing more than a blood-red smock, like a hospital robe, tied at the back and a V-neck in the front to make room for my chest brand. It is what I’m to wear in the Branding Chamber. I recognise it from the Flawed man Carrick and I were forced to listen to as he screamed while his skin was seared.

      Carrick’s jaw works overtime as he watches me take the gown, his black eyes deep pools of oil. He doesn’t ignore me any more. There are no more smart faces and sarcastic looks. I have his full attention now, his full respect. I can barely escape his looks. When I return from the changing area, I see that his cell has been utterly trashed and that he is being held down on the ground by Bark. He has not reacted well to my ruling. Perhaps this makes him more unsettled about his own. We don’t get to say goodbye. I can’t even see his face. It is beneath Bark’s knee, cheek pushed to the ground, his face facing away from me. Our contact is to remain for ever without words, not that we ever needed them anyway. I have no doubt that he will find himself wearing a similar smock and taking the same steps as I am doing now.

      Before