PRACTICE FICTION NUMBER ONE

Waking up the criminal was in jail. He didn’t know what he did but they said come with us. The night prior he thinks he slept fine but nothing made sense. He wasn’t sure what he was in for but it couldn’t be that bad because he hadn’t done anything bad in his life besides…

Did I drive on my meds again? I haven’t done that for years the criminal said, and the others didn’t say anything as they placed the shackles on him and he said what I do? Must have gotten drunk at the bar or something…and the five prison guards didn’t say anything. He thought he was going to get out and he said what I do again…I’m going to have to explain this at work and…

In the room he looked at a monitor. Who is that on the screen in the court room he said. That’s you so just shut up and wait you monster. Monster? He said. What did I do? I can’t remember much and then I woke up here. The courtroom was empty and he waited for five minutes. The judge said, what’s your plea? He continued, I’m sure you know why we’re here. This is your arraignment. I know the criminal said…

A slap on the wrist or a fine would do. Guilty the criminal said. Are you sure you don’t want representation for your crime. Yeah I mean I’m sorry it won’t happen again. You do you know why you’re here the judge said? Yes I do and I’m sorry for my behavior. It won’t happen again I promise.

The judge looked around the room and signed some papers. Everything moved faster than usual and the criminal has always admitted when he was wrong and said he was sorry, and he knew he couldn’t be in that much trouble so he smiled at the judge and didn’t even notice the red eyes and the blood on the side of his face that they never washed off because he killed three of the cops when they broke into his house after a nine one-one call was placed at three in the morning a day before Christmas. The cops showed up to the upper class neighborhood and before the next squad car came four people were dead including a laureate of poetry who arrived in the city last august. The poet’s body was found in the pool and his pants were blood but black so it didn’t show up that bad. He had a speedo around his head and bags of mulched grass were dumped and floated in the pool and were starting to make awful gargling sounds as they were clumping up the filtration system, and when every cop on the force swarmed the house they found the criminal sleeping in his bed covered in blood holding a machine-gun with a knife under his pillow, and in his pockets were the eyes of the poet.

Are you sure its guilty the judge said. You know your crime and you know you’re waving your rights? I will be sentencing you now if you plead guilty without seeking any avenues of due process, and the constitution insists that you have the right for council and an attorney is highly advised. The prosecutors haven’t requested any deal and do not wish to give you a break for the nature was brutal and calculated down to the words your friend had carved into his torso….

What? I’m lost and I can’t hear very well from this side of the monitor The Criminal said as he was finally double checking his facts and thinking about what happened? He’s been having some memory issues lately but he didn’t want to tell anybody. No, let’s get this over with he said. As you wish the judge said, please stand. STAND UP The guard said to the criminal pushing him with the barrel of a shotgun.

Based on what you said I find you guilty in the first degree of the murders of four people. I would speak with passion as you seem soulless, but as I’m a judge I will be swift and let the punishment serve as the sword. It is hereby said by the Court of Borderland that you will be executed and your mind will be stored in the digital mainframe until the end of time, in so that you can suffer without being a waste of the tax payer’s dollar…

As the hammer went down nothing else was said.

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