Guilty

“Do you want us to believe it wasn’t on purpose?” the lawyer asked. He was baring his teeth as his head jerked between the defendant and the jury. “I know, it was all a big mistake, wasn’t it?”

The defendant lowered his head. “I didn’t know," he said softly.

The lawyer took three quick steps to the witness stand and clutched the wooden railing that separated him from the defendant. “You didn’t know?” he asked. “You didn’t know the carnage you would cause? You didn’t think about the outcome?” Spittle sprayed the defendant as the lawyer spoke. He stepped back and threw his hands up and twirled in a circle, mimicking a girl dancing. “It was all a mistake," he said in a high pitched voice. “I didn’t know how many people it would kill. I’m just innocent.”

The prosecutor stood up from his chair. “Objection, your honor," he said. “He is badgering the defendant.”

The judge looked at the prosecutor then at the lawyer, who stopped twirling. “It is his defendant," he said. “I suppose he could badger him all he wants.”

The lawyer loosened his collar and stared at the defendant. He was breathing heavy and his mouth opened and closed as if he were about to say something but decided against it. He finally stomped back to his chair and flopped down in it, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You can have at him again," he said to the prosecutor.

The prosecutor looked down at his notes, then approached the witness stand slowly. “So you claim you started when you were a child, but only took your activities seriously about six months ago?” he asked.

The defendant ran his hand through his short hair. “Yes, sir. I had some luck in high school. I tried again when I was in the military, but it didn’t work out. About six months ago I started dedicating time to it.”

“Was anyone injured when you ‘had some luck in high school’?” the prosecutor asked.

The defendant turned his head from side to side. “No. No, sir. I never even thought of someone getting hurt.” He lowered his head and brought his hands to his face. “It never occurred to me that something that like would happen.”

“What was that?” the prosecutor asked. “We can’t hear you when you’re covering your face.”

The defendant quickly put his hands down and snapped his head up to look at the prosecutor. “I said it I never thought anyone would get hurt."

The prosecutor started pacing back and forth between the jury box and the other side of the judge’s bench. It reminded the defendant of a predator. “You mean to tell us in all of your time doing this, you never saw a single negative reaction?” he asked.

“I’ve seen negative reactions," the defendant said, then his stomach dropped as he realized his mistake. He tried to correct himself but it was too late. The predator attacked.

“So you are now claiming that you have seen negative reactions?” the prosecutor asked. He stood in front of the jury box and looked into the faces of each jury member. “You have seen negative reactions, but continued anyway, didn’t you? You kept at it, practicing and practicing, until you perfected it and, when you did, people died.”

“No. No, that’s not how it happened," the defendant said. “I had to keep practicing, but I wasn’t trying to kill anyone. I never thought anyone would die. Who would have ever thought-“

“You would have," the prosecutor said as he pointed towards the defendant. He did not lower his extended arm with the accusatory finger pointing as he stepped towards the witness stand. “You thought of a way to kill people. In their own homes. While you were nowhere near them. You thought this through since you were a teenager. And you kept practicing and practicing until you got it right.”

The defendant’s heart raced. “That’s not how it was at all," he said. “I thought it was good. I thought someday, I would be able to support myself. At least make a little extra money. It was never to hurt anyone. I never meant for it to kill someone.”

“Do you deny practicing it until you got better?” the prosecutor asked.

“No.”

“Then you practiced it, saw the effects, and continued anyway.”

“Nobody ever died when I was practicing it.”

The prosecutor stepped up and clutched the wooden railing of the witness stand. “That you know of," he said slowly. “I bet if we go back we will see a trail of dead bodies.”

“No, you won’t," the defendant said. “There were no other dead bodies.”

“So that’s why you kept practicing," the prosecutor said.

The defendant sat forward so his face was close to the prosecutor’s face. “You keep practicing law, don’t you? You keep practicing at it so you can eventually get better. The difference between me and you is that you are trying to perfect it so you can take somebody’s life away.”

The prosecutor stared into the defendant’s eyes and paused. The moment seemed to last an eternity and, in that time, the defendant could saw the prosecutor start shaking. First it was his arms, then his chest was shaking. Finally, his head started shaking slightly as he tried in vain to hold back the rage.

The prosecutor grabbed the front of the defendant’s shirt with both hands and took a step back, dragging the man with him. “I only expect to take your life away," he yelled as he started punching the defendant in the face. “You are the one that needs to pay for you did.”

Two bailiffs grabbed the prosecutor and pulled him off the defendant. The defendant pulled himself back into to the witness box. He tried to sit down, but slid off the chair. He wiped the blood from his face, then used the wood railing to steady himself as he raised himself to the chair.

The prosecutor was forced into his own seat by the bailiffs. He composed himself as best he could before apologizing to the judge.

“Your honor," the defense lawyer said. “I must point out there is no actual law against what my client did. As much as I hate to admit it, there is no law against bad writing.”

The prosecutor tried to stand again, but one of the bailiffs forced him back into his chair by putting his hand on the prosecutor’s shoulder. “There may be no law against it," he said, “but his writing killed everyone who read it.”

“There is no real evidence that is what killed them," the lawyer said. “Yes, they were all found holding his book. But there is no proof that the writing itself was the cause of death.”

The prosecutor picked up a book from his desk and tossed it at the lawyer. It landed on the floor with a loud thud at the lawyer’s feet. The lawyer jumped out of his chair to back away from it. “Then you read it," the prosecutor said. “Go ahead, pick up the book and read it if you think it wasn’t the murder weapon.”

“Enough," the judge said. “I’ve heard enough.” He looked at the jury. “There is no need for the jury to deliberate on this case. I have made my decision.”

The judge looked at the defendant. “I find you guilty. Guilty of bad writing. Guilty of violating every grammar rule ever established. Guilty of not understanding plot structure, not knowing the difference between an idea and a concept, not knowing how to define your theme, and not knowing how to develop three dimensional characters. But worst of all, I find you guilty of not finding your writing voice. Your writing has killed people. It has torn families apart. You are guilty.”

“I… I didn’t know…”, the defendant’s voice trailed off.

“GUILTY!”, the judge yelled while banging his gavel against his desk. “Guilty as charged. Bailiffs, take this sorry excuse for a writer out of here before I let the prosecutor have at him again.”

The bailiffs removed the defendant from the witness stand and handcuffed him. The courtroom became alive in chorus of jeers and cussing. Someone threw a book at the defendant as he was lead toward to the exit.

“I didn’t know it was that bad," the defendant said repeatedly, but nobody listened. They continued their jeering as he was led from the courtroom.

 ~~~

Whenever I sit down and write I think to myself, “Well, if I screw this up, at least nobody will die." Hopefully, I’m not wrong.