Yomi Ṣode

There had to be something that really pulls this to actually get a conversation going.

And I found it.

Fugitives.

Prior to Renucio Tomassoni's death, Caravaggio had been cautioned, reprimanded by police, then set free upon instruction.

Countless slaps on the wrist until one afternoon he challenged non-pimp and rival Renucio to a duel over Felide Milindroni, whom they both loved.

An illegal duel in the streets of Rome ensued, leaving Renucio bleeding through his femoral artery.

By the time Renucio Tomassoni's lifeless body was attended to, Caravaggio was nowhere to be found.

He fled the Papal States because he could, blagging his way out of punishment and into the care of the Knights of Malta.

Even when a man lay dead, a painting for the Grand Master granted Caravaggio a pardon from the Pope.

My ancestors received little grace from the papacy.

When decrees were made against the enslavement of American natives, where was the mercy for the souls of Africa?

Their decaying limbs settled on sea beds or were hung from trees, the branches bending to tell the tale, their skin was flogged for not listening, their bodies were sold on like cattle, where was the pardon for them?

On a cold night in December, Jack Shepard felt a meal was not enough.

Having shared two bottles of wine, he took his date for a late night speedboat ride on the Thames.

Slaps on the wrist.

The police had warned Shepard on two separate occasions for speeding.

By the time the pair were pulled from the water, the boat overturned by a log, the young woman was fighting for her life.

Charlotte Brown died in hospital.

Caravaggio continued painting and brawling, lauded for his works for four more years, before at last his death caught up with him.

He evaded justice at the hands of the law.