His cloak was black. Black, and real. He stood at the end of the courtroom, with a ravenous grin. I was his next target, ready to be preyed upon. The Grim Reaper, harbinger of death, was as real as myself.
“Will the defendant state her name and occupation?” the Judge inquired in a perfunctory manner. She was a wrinkly, crabby-looking old lady, about the age of 65. Her hair was in a neat bun, and she donned a rather boring burgundy attire. To me, it was spectacular that she lived longer than I. A moment passed, and then a few hundred more did, too.
I trembled. I remained silent.
“I apologize,” began my attorney. He was a rather stocky man, and around my age. “She refuses to speak. If she has no objections, I will attempt to answer any questions for her.”
The judge shook her head. “I cannot allow that.” The attention promptly returned to me.
I paused for a moment, but I knew that this time I was ready to speak. “Jennifer Stone is my name. I am a psychologist.”
“Mrs. Stone, you are being convicted for the assault and murder of your husband,” began the prosecutor. I barely got a look at them, as my vision at that point began to blur. “Could you answer a few questions about his death?”
I nodded. There were no other options. I had to conform.
“Were you, indeed, at home during time or your husband’s death?”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone else with you?”
“Yes, my son.”
“Did you assault your husband with an encyclopedia?”
There he was. As lifelike as ever, drumming his fingers on his accursed scythe. The skeleton continued to stare at me, perhaps planning his attack. He waited eagerly for me to answer, which I chose not to do. I looked down. Soon, my fingers began to drum on the witness’s stand, mimicking the rhythm of Death. Thump.
“I object, Your Honor!” the attorney shouted. “I do not think an encyclopedia is capable of taking one’s life away. Have the detectives thoroughly investigated any other possibilities? I believe that if so, we may find evidence that proves that another person was the culprit.”
“I object to his objection.” The prosecutor shook their head, almost laughing, yet in the most vapid way possible. “Mrs. Stone’s fingerprints were found on the book, in addition to the victim’s blood. I believe that is enough evidence to prove not only that that was the weapon, but also that the defendant is of the guilty party.”
“Of course her fingerprints were on the book; it was her own,” the defense rebutted. “As for the blood, it’s possible that the book may have been lying there at the scene of the crime, and blood may have landed on it.”
Thump. Thump.
They continued to argue, with the Judge intervening every so often. They talked about me as if I were an animal, ignoring the fact that, I, too, am living, breathing, and lucid. But, everything they said… Everything I saw… It was all a slurry of nothingness.
My thoughts began to fission. The knife. His knife. It had the same energy I did. I could feel its presence. Murder. Before my very own eyes, it all happened again.
“Honey, we need to talk,” he said, leading me to the living room.
“About what?” I replied nervously.
“I’ve always found you to be very… how shall I say this? Displeasing.” He took something out of his pocket. A pocket knife, shiny, red, brimming with… death.
Thump. Thump.
“It was self-defense! He… he…!” I screeched, in the midst of an argument. “I… I admit to it. But, but, he attacked me with a knife! I have a scratch from it.” I pulled down my sleeve. “I’m sorry I concealed it. I didn’t want to make my husband look like a bad man.” I breathed, silently. “I picked up the encyclopedia I was reading… I didn’t know what else to do! I hit him. He was knocked out, if not dead. I stabbed him with the knife he held onto dearly. I may have stabbed a living person. I may have stabbed a corpse.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. He was now holding an hourglass, turned it after a few seconds, and then began to tap it.
“Jennifer Stone, do you confess to murdering your husband? Should you confess, you will not receive the death penalty, but you will serve a very long time in prison.” At this point, anything was fine. I am a murderer. I am death itself. Thump, thump.
I collapsed. I wish I had died, however. I am like one of my patients, manipulated by a demon, watched… If only my chains were broken. If only… if only I never met that scumbag.
But it no longer mattered. Justice has been served.
Yeah, sorry it's stuffty. I wrote it at 4:08 AM, what do you expect? Also, I've evidently played too much Ace Attorney.
Anyway, some words...
Theandric, mitre, necrophilia, chlorochrous.
Maybe my words are too intimidating? Let's try this: An easy mode!
The, a, and, but.
I bet none of you guys can beat that challenge.
