Short Stories Week 4- Verdict, As Charged

Verdict, as Charged

Joseph White

I found myself looking into the
piercing eyes of the older man atop the bench. He stared right back, as though
challenging my avant-guard, but I am not afraid. What is fear but a formality
of our species? There may still be hope for me yet. Surely they could not prove
anything more than they had already brought forward. My case could not be merely
decided, as though guilty or not guilty was simple enough. Perhaps I had gone
too far, but then again it was justifiable, although here, in this sweltering
room, I could sense an urgency to escape, to convict.

“All rise.”

I chuckled to myself at the way the bailiff’s round body
almost bounced with each word, rising in falling as he strained to breathe in
the heat.

“Mr. Rainart, will you control
yourself! I will not be made a fool of in my courtroom. Now stand up.” 

Had I been laughing out loud? I must have. No, it was
impossible that he knows the inner workings of my thoughts. How dare he insist
upon my standing! I will no more easily rise for him than ascend the staircase
of my own execution. Slowly, I stood, but with the scowl of a wolf that has
been caught hunting sheep and must slowly retreat into the wooded brush. My
lawyer, so fancily dressed in a business suit, motions to me, whispering some
unintelligible nonsense that only those of high legislative knowledge can
interpret, the fool. Does he not know this is supposed to be serious? Black,
his overcoat color, or combination of jacket and what appears to be feline
hair, is such a disheartening color. Why are there no attorneys fashioned in,
say, a bright orange suit, or even a passionate red?  Looking around, I noticed the bronze Lady,
blindfolded, carrying her counterweights. For some reason my heart felt heavy
at the sight of them.

Why aren’t the jury members looking at me? Every single one
of them, snooty, dressed in their best attire couldn’t bear to see me in my
rags. What right of them, these peers,
they which could read off my fate so easily, like reciting a common prayer,
when wearing such clothing? Curse them and dam them, they look at me, although
rarely into my eyes, with such contempt, that I am tempted to stick out my
tongue, like a four-year-olds clever response to a demanded chore.

“Mr. Rainart! I am reaching the
pinnacle of my patience with you! Either you stand and listen to your verdict with
dignity or I will add an eternity to your sentence!”

How is it possible, this man, so high and mighty, can
interpret my every thought? I had not moved, nor did I bat an eyelash whilst
the jurors continued their blank gaze in every which direction. Had I? I felt
the small fireball of anger beginning to build up within the confines of my
chest. My heart raced, staring at him and at the idea that this man could know
me so well. And still he, just as angry it seemed, bored into my own eyes with
such profound intensity and finality that I had to look away. But wait. Was
there a glint of sadness? It was just a quick, sneaky glimpse, a brief
sighting, like watching the life of a loved one slip away. Did he have some
hope of finding fear in my soul? He must be trying to trick me, scare me
perhaps, this man had my life in his hand, but still it was not enough. When
would the scoffing end. My faults are my own, and I take responsibility do I
not? What right of you even, to mock my misfortune, to bring upon such wrath
should be only up to the Chief of the Supreme Court.

And her! The one who looks at me from across the room with
bittersweet love, so sad, mother, so incredibly depressed at my misfortune! I
understand she will never stop loving me although I can not remember the last
time I felt it. I believe it is described as being wrapped in wool and ice, but
the woman who passed on this deranged wisdom was crazy. I’m not crazy. I know
what I did and the consequences, but I am not sorry. No, not at all, not
before, not now, or ever, for the deserving get what they ought to have and I
have earned it all, everything!

 “We, the jury, find the defendant,
Mr. Charles Rainart...”