Solemn defendants and a sense of anxiety fill Magistrates’ Court first thing on a Monday morning — and from the bored look on the faces of the security guards, probably every other morning as well.

On those long, hard benches, long, hard hours are spent deciding the fate of those who have done anything from speeding to stealing and not paying their fines for speeding or stealing.

From the press bench against the wall, I observe the court’s occupants for the day. The stony faces of the defendants stare blankly across the room from behind a glass wall, their body language revealing their unhappiness.

A small audience is scattered around the benches; a father glancing at his son seated behind the glass, two children slumped against the back of a bench and a few others likely there to support ones they know. In a sharp contrast, the lawyers stand in front, alert and prepared, flipping through their papers and chatting among themselves. They wear tailored suits and seem to be running through their usual and well-rehearsed routines.

A voice cuts through the hushed mumbling: “All stand.” That is quickly replaced by the shuffling of people rising to greet the magistrate. Even those who have committed no crime feel the power he holds and all feel a level of intimidation. He enters from a side door and takes his place above the rest of the court, like a king being seated on his throne.

Again the sounds of people taking their own seats fills the room and the first name is called. One by one they stand, alone and singled out to be recognised by the rest of the room.

They are told the story they already know, as they are the main character, and are asked to admit their role.

A single second of curiosity, then the words “guilty” or “not guilty” are muttered and the judgment begins.

The magistrate questions some of them, many repeat offenders, asking why they are there. Some try their best to defend their actions or give a good reason, others simply shake their heads mournfully and avert their eyes. They are all under his authority, awaiting his decision.

After long pauses when only the sound of papers being shuffled can be heard, each one is given a clipboard to sign, a binding contract informing them of how they will pay for what they have done wrong.

After each one has been ushered from the room, and the magistrate has exited, the chatter resumes and people start to file out of the door at the back of the room, back to their daily lives.

I walk out of the door of another world, which I have now experienced. But tomorrow the experience will begin again, only there will be different solemn faces behind the glass, with different stories to be told, and different fates to be decided.