Women and Crime. Why do women commit crimes?

Open Court, Alloa 2022 by Orla Broderick.

Excerpt from creative non fiction nature memoir. June 16 2022

My Lord was small and white. His black robe hung well. As if tailored. His face was pinched. Like Soxy’s hole. Above him was a vast portrait then old wooden beams.There were no cobwebs in the beams. Indicating bats. 

In the birthplace of Scotland. The home of misogyny. Buddas in black robes were minded by one woman. She stood outwith their wooden enclave. She watched one corner of the public court room. A hefty brutish woman sat next to a small old man. Another woman on his left was tittering.Her name is Lizzie. She has a lockdown Westie. Nasty little bitch.

My Lord looked up from his papers. ‘I find it disgraceful she appears before my court in middle age. I am astonished and quite worried. Are we sure she has no mental illness?’

Lizzie tittered. The woman in charge shushed her. A thin bent woman in the Dias stood, leaned over and whispered. The Viking two seats away from her looked around the room. Scanned the trio. Lizzie tittered. The woman in charge glanced at the cop in the back corner. He stood up and walked over to look at Lizzie, her man and the hun. My Lord watched.

‘What age was her victim at the time of assault?’ He asked the buddas.

‘Fifty nine, my Lord.’ Said the fiscal. The prosecutor turned and checked. Confirmed. My Lord had a good long stare at the trio. The cop stood over them.

‘Is the Court conviced she can refrain from assaulting random men?’ He asked the buddas. Each in turn stood to nod. The prosecutor’s mobile phone rang.

‘May I remind the Court to switch off their mobile phones.’ My Lord used his cross voice. As if he had many daughters. Lizzie coughed. The small man switched off his phone. He’s the kinda guy wouldn’t be out of place at a Texan dog fight. 

The woman in charge sees everything. Always. My Lord looked me between the eyes. Admiring my monobrow no doubt. I caught his eyes with my own and held them. He felt my soul. He knew then. I would never play his game. I would stand in his dock until death if he wished. He saw. There was a sudden crash. The woman in charge looked directly behind me. I turned. A smooth cheeked nazi with track marks was mooning. He appeared to have attempted to leave but his jeans had fallen down. He had tripped. My Lord growled. Moments later the door closed. We heard him vomit. The Viking nodded and left. My lord looked at my monobrow, then into my eyes. I inhaled. Behind my Guid Reads Covid mask. I smelled his punishment. Coming. He held my gaze. I chanted Nam Myoho Renge Kyo three times. I tightened my sit bones. 

Why would an out gay radical feminist try to rip the stanes off of someone? Only Creepy Texan and I know the truth. There’s a pitchfork behind my front door. My ex’s hammers are on the stair. This is Scotland’s birthplace. The tribes here scared away the Romans. Highlanders helped. In Wallace country 2022 men refuse to ask why women commit crimes.

‘With no psychiatric conclusion, she is fit for custodial.’ My Lord said.

The woman in charge rolled her eyes, leaned her elbows on the fence, put her head in her hands. Charlotte stood up. ‘My client was diagnosed with ptsd.’

‘When was this?’

‘Yesterday my Lord.’

‘Sit down miss.’ He snorted. ‘This is not on any documentation before me.’ He glared at me.

‘My client is highly accomplished.’

‘Her demeanour has improved. The Police report of the assault is detailed. Read me the production of events.’

A Buddha stood. Read slow slow from a tablet. Pronounced each word. Annunciated.  The open court was still and silent. 

‘The victim was in the confines of his own property. The accused approached him. He was standing on his lawn chair. At the back of his garden. Behind his garage.’

‘Stood on his what?’

‘His lawn chair, my Lord.’

‘This was in his garden?’

‘Yes my Lord.’

‘The accused was where?’

‘In the confines of her own garden my Lord.’

‘Why was he standing on his chair? Presumably as some sort of defensive action against her psychotic behaviour?’

The woman in the Dias stood, leaned and whispered. ‘Her testimony of events was not recorded. All statements and evidence were presented by the victim.’  She looked over at the toxic trio until he looked with her. ‘The wtness testimony was removed.’

From my sit bones to my third eye my breath was slow and even.

I imagined fields of bog cotton. At Husabost, near Kensal Roag. Where I breast fed. I chanted Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. Behind the mask.

‘The accused shouted ‘I pity your dog’ then proceeded to the front of her property, leaped into his driveway to assault him, my Lord.’

‘What were the proceedings, details of injuries. The accused exhibits no remorse whatsoever.’

‘The accused pled guilty to pushing him, punching him, then grabbing him roughly by the testicles before yelling in his face ‘I’ll rip these off you, you fucking creep,’ my Lord.’

‘Appalling conduct for a middle aged woman with these accomplishments. Shall we have her re-examined for psychaitric illness?’

Why would I touch his balls? Why would anyone? Why would a mom shoo her daughter inside then run off to commit her very first crime?

All the questions no man here dare touch. Yes they were Lilliputian. I barely found them. He screamed like a baby.

My Lord had not yet met my kind. I was his first Buddha witch from the islands. I been broken, re-built, broken, re-built. Do your worst. I stood for the seven generations of women behind me. And the seven to come. For every woman who could not speak out about abuse. Stand until death. If I were found dead, it would be no surprise. There would be an enquiry. I have documented everything. It’s all the MirthQuake hard drive in my office. I was fresh meat for the nastiest woman in Scotland. Every service locally knows her, and her charming offspring. The hun’s son would do it. He did his last with a hammer. Creepy Texan longs to stab me repeatedly. I should take out life insurance. I offered Daimoku that I might live to see my child again.

For every woman who could not speak out. For the folk who turn their faces away from abuse. For the child I was – told to wheesht. I am a Buddha. In Court. In my garden. In a river.

I will win. I got this.

Wanna write your story? Get in touch via Stirling Reuse Hub

Calling all ye auld crones n hags. Tell us the crimes ye did n why....
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s