He didn’t say anything. Stood there. Mute. Kept looking down at the floor. They told him his public defender would be there soon. Meanwhile he waited in the cage. Black and brown men stared at him. A white man came over to him and whispered, it’s us against them. He continued looking at the concrete floor. His head did not move.

Dressed in orange, the boy had already accepted that his freedom was stripped. He kept thinking of the night in question. It wasn’t his idea to go down to the river. She wanted to. Said she liked the sound of running water in the dark. Said she liked to wrestle in the tall grass.

And he did. He took her down to the river and they made love in the brown weeds. Winter was ending and spring was on its way. He felt the full moon on his back; inside his head. Telling him to kill her. The moon told him to place his hands on her neck. Said to squeeze the life out of her. The sound of the water got louder. The moon shined brighter.

They said he didn’t mean to do it. Said it was an act of passion. He sat there and thought about it for a long, long time. Years went by. He felt remorse. Wanted to pay for his sins. The moon glowed that night. Through prison walls he could feel it’s dark magic. Right down to his bones.

The boy was found the next morning with a white sheet ’round his neck. He was pronounced dead at seven a.m. The following night, the moon did not shine.