Heartbreak Hotel

“All rise.”

There was a clatter echoing throughout the chamber as everyone stood. A child asked his mother something but was instantly quieted. The mother bowed her head apologetically to a nearby guard.

“Presiding over today’s trial are the fair Administers Bitan, Desamor, and Dau’long. Under their righteous judgement shall our society prosper.” Three robed individuals appeared from behind towering podiums, each one looking down at the handcuffed man before them. A drone zipped down to the man and scanned over him with a tiny camera.

“Please be seated,” Administer Bitan stated gently. Bitan and his fellow administers as well as the spectators all took their seats. Bitan wore a muted red robe that faded to a cool blue near the bottom of its train. Streaks of black raced down its hem horizontally tying the clashing colors together. He lowered his head just a nod to analyze the defendant below more clearly. He then lifted his head to read some documents through the glasses on the edge of his nose.

“Who stands before us today?” Administer Desamor questioned. She combined the papers on her podium before stacking them neatly off to the side. With folded arms, she leaned toward her podium exposing more of her robe which was colored red towards the top and bottom while the midsection was a faded yellow.

“M… Matthew… Mo…” the man sputtered quietly.

“Speak up!” Administer Dau’long ordered. Dau’long’s robe, again, was colored mostly red except for a patch of yellow centralized on his chest. Dau’long fidgeted in his chair before reaching for a piece of paper and clicking a pen rapidly.

“Matthew Mors.... Administer,” Matthew called out louder than intended. Bitan looked for a paper and set it on top of the others. The drone floated silently above the room, focusing in on Matthew.

“Matthew Mors,” Desamor began. “You stand accused of having committed a great crime against our society. The ramifications of said crime are far reaching and thus felt by many.”

“I—I apologize! I beg for forgiveness… I was wrong, but…It won’t happen again!”

“Of course, it won’t. We’ll make sure of that,” Dau’long added.

“Wh—what?”

The administers all looked at each other.

“Open and shut sentence, don’t you think?” Bitan asked. Dau’long nodded in agreement while Desamor lifted her gavel. The woman in the crowd pulled her closer.

“Matthew Mors, on charges of spreading propaganda you were found guilty by admittance,” Dau’long proclaimed. Matthew licked his lips and his mouthed gaped open as he looked among the administers.

“As such, this court sentences you to death,” Desamor banged the gavel. Matthew exhaled and turned around with delight. His eyes met with the woman and child and they exchanged delighted smiles. Tears started to stream from the woman’s eyes as she tried to hold in her laughter. Matthew turned back to the podiums. Bitan smiled down at him.

“Thought you’d like that,” Bitan smirked. “Bailiffs. Please escort him away. Next case!”

Matthew was led away and the woman followed closely behind, dragging the child with her. Another handcuffed man was brought in immediately afterwards. The guard pushed him forward with a tonfa and closed the small gate after he entered the area with the podiums.

“Who stands before us today?” Desamor questioned.

“An innocent man!” exclaimed the new defendant. The room was deathly quiet. Nothing stirred except for the sound of Dau’long clicking a pen.

“An innocent man?” Bitan asked. “Claiming innocence comes with a lot of baggage. You realize this, correct?”

“For you to be innocent, our police force would have to be wrong, our investigators would have to be wrong, all of the witnesses – wrong! Not to mention the clear and simple fact that we have you on recording. So, no, you are not innocent,” Dau’long stated.

“It shouldn’t be a crime to call out the suffering you cause!” the man cried. “To want for a better life!”

“The suffering we cause?” Bitan asked sincerely.

“You are puppets of the government! You’re just as guilty! You try to control every aspect of our lives! We aren’t allowed to be free, to enjoy life! Every day is suffering by comparison!”

“State your name before the court!” Dau’long ordered in frustration.

“My name is Tristan Boon!” he pointed to the drone with his cuffed hands. “I am pleading to the people to—"

“Silence, Mr. Boon!” Desamor shouted.

“I will not—” Tristan started to counter, but Desamor slammed her gavel and all the lights in the room went red and an electric shock was delivered from the cuffs, causing Tristan to seize up.

“I said silence!” Desamor ordered through clenched teeth. “You had your chance to make your plea and your peers found you guilty as charged in the previous court.” Tristan was breathing more heavily now.

“I didn’t know my peers were a bunch of bureaucrats…” Another shock.

“Your presence here is a last chance to realize and to right your wrongs and maybe, just maybe, lessen your sentence,” Dau’long explained.

“Just give me the death sentence. That’s what you give everyone else!”

Bitan finished reading another document and held it up. A drone floated nearby, grabbed it and eased it down to Tristan, allowing him to read it.

“These are your words. Correct, Mr. Boon?” Bitan asked. Tristan quickly glanced through it.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“You stood before a crowd, attempting to bring their suffering to light? To explain their terrible lives?” Bitan asked.

“They know how terrible their lives are. I wanted to show them someone was willing to challenge their oppressors! But you’ll just sweep me under the rug and be done with it!”

“We don’t sweep anyone under the rug, Mr. Boon,” Dau’long started. “We put you in the spotlight for all to see!” Dau’long swept his hand towards the drone. “We are rather transparent.” He looked over to Desamor and Bitan. “I think we’re done here.” Desamor raised her gavel.

“Tristan Boon, on charges of conspiring to revolt against the government you have been found guilty,” Desamor declared. “Due to the uniqueness of your… crime, this court hereby sentences you to reflect on your words under government surveillance.” Desamor banged her gavel. Tristan’s mouth fell open. He twisted around to look at the spectators, but they all avoided eye contact with him. The bailiff opened the small gate and approached Tristan who turned back to the administers.

“No!” Tristan yelled. “You sent the last guy to death! Why not me? Kill me!”

“Mr. Mors did not challenge our way of life,” Bitan offered. “Bailiff?” The bailiff grabbed Tristan and forcefully wheeled him around and pushed him towards the exit. “I hope this will make you realize the true suffering our forefathers fought to overcome, to cast from our society and leave only peace.” Bitan continued. “Maybe then you won’t be so quick to challenge our authority. Please send in the next case!”

Tristan was pushed into the back seat of a government vehicle. The car charged into the street and sped down the lane reserved for official use.

“Listen, buddy,” Tristan scooted towards the divider between the back and front of the vehicle. “Don’t you think we—”

“Save it, buddy,” the driver replied with disdain. The divider slammed shut and Tristan slouched back into his seat. It wasn’t long before the car pulled into its destination and his door was opened. Tristan was yanked out of the car and guided towards a nearby building. Tristan saw Matthew Mors’ face plastered on a digital bulletin board.

Man Believes in Afterlife; Allowed to Test Theory

Tristan was paraded through white halls. Attendants wore blue uniforms and checked on unmarked doors. A woman wearing a maroon uniform appeared at the end of the hall and waited for Tristan and his escort with her hands behind her back. She guided them to an open door and Tristan was pushed into a room. The woman entered after him.

“Give me death! Anything but this!” Tristan pleaded.

“We all must pay for our crimes as deemed fit by the administers,” the woman replied nonchalantly. She brought her hands forward and revealed a locket in the shape of a heart. Red, thinly shaped metal strings weaved its form. Its sheen was immaculate. The woman held either end of the black chain carrying the locket and walked behind Tristan. She lowered it in front of him and brought the two ends together behind his neck. There was a whirring noise as the chain came alive with energy that raced towards the locket which soon began to beat as if it was an actual heart and glow with red light. The woman and the escort walked towards the door.

“The sooner you open the locket, the sooner you can serve your sentence,” she said. The door slammed shut.

Tristan glanced at the beating heart. He tried to lift the chain but once he touched it, he heard a distant, echoing voice. It was a woman. No. A child. He looked to the door then back to the heart. His breathing grew heavier and heavier until he grabbed the locket with both hands and opened it.

He was no longer in the room. He was outside. The sky was clear. Blue. The sun had plenty of sky to traverse in the day. Tristan heard weeping and turned to see a family of five bowing their heads at a fresh grave. The weeping continued and Tristan looked for the source. He thought it was one of the children, but it wasn’t them. Tristan felt a tear on his face. He looked at his hands and suddenly he replaced the smallest child in the family. This wasn’t his family or his memory, but emotions swelled within him as if they were. Sadness washed over him as he mourned a pet. Another grave appeared. Tristan felt older, but not by much and noticed the father was missing. He tried to hold back tears. His sister was crying enough for all of them. His brother, however, looked angry. Clenched fists.

Tristan turned around and was met by a full military funeral. A portrait of his brother, once again older, was propped up near the front. Countless civilians and families were mourning the loss. Several soldiers raised their weapons and fired simultaneously, but then someone fired back and pockets of dirt kicked up. Jets flew overhead and explosions littered the area. Tristan covered his eyes as dirt clouds enveloped them.

He lowered his arms and was met by a dilapidated building. Dozens of people were huddled inside. Their clothes torn and caked in dust and mud… probably mud. Mothers and fathers fed children from forced-open canned foods. There was firing in the distance and the people hushed. An electric whirring sounded as well as the sound of walls collapsing. Tristan looked through a hole and saw a blue flashlight scanning the area. The light spotted Tristan and something was soon on top of him. The whirring of gears, hydraulics and metal clutched Tristan’s arm and lifted him up. Some sort of cyborg scanned Tristan as more kicked down the walls and captured the other people. There was a scream. A charge. Soldiers in dark red armor fired upon the enemy. Tristan took cover in an artillery crater. Tears streamed down his face as he heard bodies fall. He wasn’t sure who was winning.

“In summary of last night’s cases,” a newscaster began. The patrons in the coffee shop ordered their foods and read newspapers as the television continued. “Three deaths, one civil service and one admitted to the Heartbreak Hotel.” A clip of Tristan in solitary confinement played.

“That makes four in the hotel this year right, Sharla?” the newscaster asked their cohost.

“I think you’re right!”

“Ungrateful varmints,” a coffee shop patron uttered. He folded his newspaper, paid his bill, and buttoned up a red uniform before joining a parade outside with similarly dressed people.