A dimly lit courtroom frozen in eerie tension, where the judge's bench sits conspicuously empty despite the presence of a packed gallery—spectators with hollow eyes, their faces blurred as if smeared by time. At the witness stand, a small boy in a striped sailor suit grips a dented tin drum, his mouth agape mid-scream, yet no sound seems to escape. Behind him, the bailiff's hand hovers near his shoulder, not to restrain but to silence, fingers pressing into the air like a pantomime of suppression. The jury box is filled with faceless mannequins, their wooden heads tilted at unnatural angles, while the prosecutor's table overflows with stacks of untouched documents, their edges curling like dead leaves. A single shaft of light slices through the dust motes, illuminating an overturned chair, as if someone fled—or was dragged away—before testimony could begin. The shadows stretch long and deliberate, suggesting not an absence of justice, but its deliberate suspension. Mehr sehen