The Verdict I Don't Deserve

“Order in the court!” the bailiff barks loudly. We all stand up as the judge enters the courtroom and takes her seat. I came to hate this woman so much! Did they have to assign a female judge to my case? Really?

“Be seated!” the bailiff barks again. I sit down, avoiding eye contact with the judge by looking down. I shake my head, still not believing how quickly everything turned around. Turning to my lawyer, I whisper, "A verdict? So quickly?" He shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know. We'll see." I mumble to myself, "Do you know anything at all? Worst lawyer ever, I wonder if you ever got any of your defendants off the hook."

The courtroom becomes so quiet I can hear myself, as if I'm speaking at full volume. I hope my lawyer didn't hear me, it would be so embarrassing for him.

“I understand the jury has reached the verdict. You may bring the jury,” the judge says. The jurors quickly move in, "my peers" my ass. None of them are anything like me: men are small and fat, there are more women than men, and even the foreman is a "forelady," as they keep calling her. That square short b*tch is not a lady.

Once the jury is seated, the judge says, “Madam Forelady, would you stand for me?”

The shorty stands up, holding my fate in her right hand.

“Have you reached the verdict?”

“Yes, your honor, we have.” The way she said it made my skin crawl. It cannot be good for me.

“Is it unanimous?” the judge asks like she has no stake in this. Objective my ass, I'd strangle her if she were within my reach.

“Yes, your honor.”

Even worse, no mistrial. They are going to lock me up. If I were them, I'd probably do that too. After all, I killed my own son. But he shouldn't have stood between me and his mother. That whore had it coming, she enraged me so that I lost control. I was completely insane in that moment. That's what my lawyer said, playing my temporary insanity defense card. I doubt they bought it. I wouldn't, if I were them.

“Alright, please pass it to the clerk who will pass it to me. And you may be seated,” the judge says.

I can't tear my eyes off the papers as they reach the judge’s hand. She shuffles them with a smart face, like she knows what to look for in them. It seems like it takes her forever, but it's just seconds.

“Defendant will rise,” the judge says looking me straight into the eye. She waits for me and my lawyer to stand up. I stand up slowly, trying to assert my dominance and calm. I have nowhere to rush, they can all wait. Not to give my hateful gaze to the judge as I feel the rage coming up my throat, I stare down at the desk.

“Madam clerk, would you please publish the verdict, starting with the first page,” the judge says, giving the papers to the clerk. Another woman. Don't they have men working for the courts anymore? Oh wait, the bailiff...

The clerk is reading the verdict out loud: the docket number, blah, blah, blah, state versus my name, blah, blah, blah, the criminal charges, blah, blah, blah. Just finish this torture already, no one needs all of that after three months of trial.

Finally, here it comes, “On the charges of aggravated assault and second-degree murder – ‘Guilty’ verdict.” I hear someone gasp and force myself not to look at my wife.

She is the one to blame. She made me do it, and she should have known better. She enraged me, and she knows what sets me off. She did it on purpose, and now our son is gone. It's all her fault.

The judge is now saying something about the sentencing and thanking the jury for their service. Great service, alright, setting me up for 25 to life.