All Alone

Posted on February 4, 2012


A deathly silence befell the courtroom as the accused entered. The chains of his handcuffs  made a slight rattling, which sent  chills running down everyone’s necks, including the judge’s.  The man’s broad shoulders were hunched, his hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes. The judge motioned for the bailiff, a tall, muscular, broad shouldered man, visibly shaken by the presence of the accused,  to approach him. He leaned towards him and whispered, “Did someone turn up the air condition?”

The bailiff shook his head, and returned to his post, a cold sweat soaking his uniform. The accused didn’t have an attorney; everyone was afraid to work with him. Nor was there a prosecutor, for the same reason. His only company were security guards at either side of him, yet despite their intimidating sizes, they still seemed almost afraid.  The judge cleared his throat.

“The court is now in session.”

The statement hung awkwardly in the air for a moment as everyone, except the bailiff, the accused and his guards, were already seated.

“Mister Noel Alal, the Superior Federal Court of the North American Union of Socialist States finds you in contempt of the Social Conformity Act, established circa 2052. As such, you have also displayed acts congruent with the motto of the Human Individuality Rebellion. Do you understand these accusations as I have stated them to you?”

Noel nodded, staring at the judge with a look that screamed bloody murder. The judge continued, trying to not to show his fear.

“Very well. Do you have any final statements?”

“You’re human.”

The judge didn’t know how to respond. He nervously looked at the Bailiff, who wouldn’t make eye contact. He shifted slightly in his seat and looked back at Noel.

“Please clarify.”

“You are human, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Then are we not the same?”

“If we were, you wouldn’t be in contempt of the Social Conformity Act.”

“Why must we be all the same? Why can’t we have our own interests, live our lives the way we want them to, move at our own paces?”

“Because it’s imperfection.” There was slight disgust in the judge’s tone. But realizing again whom he was speaking to, he began to tremble. A low, ominous, rumble that was Noel’s laugh filled the room.

“You fear me. You fear imperfection. I stand alone in this sick society. It cuts deep, but I will find comfort in death.”

The judge nodded.

“Very well. You are hereby sentenced to death for acts of treason.”

He looked at the guards. “Take him away.”

Each guard grabbed an arm, and quickly led him out of the courtroom.

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