His face was colorless, body tensed, hands clenched together as he waited for the verdict. He was perspiring all over his body, and he nervously tapped his feet.  His wife, sitting behind him, whispered soothing words, but it was no use.  He knew this verdict would determine the rest of his life. Would he be sent to the pencil sharpener or would he be spared?  He felt some penitence for the plagiarism he committed.  Maybe the judge would acknowledge this and lighten his punishment, maybe even let him walk away unharmed.  He then thought, would he do it all over again? Hell Yes! For five years he had lived like a king, making hundreds of millions of dollars in publishing fees each month.  In the back of his head, he knew all along it was a matter of time.  The government had been all over him from the start. But, like many other criminals, he believed he was invincible, that the law would not penetrate his invincibility.  He focused on the judge, looking to see if his face would provide any clues.  After what seemed like an eternity, the judge looked at him and said,“guilty.”  His wife fell to the ground because she knew he was doomed.  Face in palms, he cried. He couldn’t believe he was going to the pencil sharpener. He read once that, centuries ago, people used this barbaric object, on a smaller scale,  as a machine to sharpen something called a pencil, a writing tool.  He didn’t believe it, thinking how could a society have this heinous mechanism for anything other than ripping flesh and bone. He snapped back to reality as a guard put handcuffs on him and led him to a cell.  Although he was offered a “last meal,” he was nauseous and couldn’t eat. Hours passed, and he waited and waited. He just wanted it to be done. Finally, another guard came and led him to the massive pencil sharpener, the size of an MRI machine.  The guard roughly shoved his body into the massive pencil sharpener.   The engine within the machine slowly turned on… “Ahhhhhh” he woke up in his bed soaked with sweat.