Federick— or Fred, as his family once called him—was laughing.
Even though he knelt humiliated and wretchedly on the ground in front of the stands, his hands bound, forehead touching the earth, every organ in his body groaning in discomfort.
Half of his face was numb, his left eye had been punched during the recent arrest, swollen and almost blind, his jaw scraped with a gash that kept bleeding, his ribs also kicked and aching, his left wrist severely twisted from being bound behind his back, the pain piercing to the core.
And that was just the upper body.
But Fred was still laughing.
His laughter was exceptionally joyous, exceptionally liberating, exceptionally sincere, even with hints of madness, no matter how the Patrol Officers responsible for his escort admonished him with an inner timidity masked by a stern exterior to restrain himself.
