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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: dreamscape

A court judge loathing the lower social class dregs, imagines violence at their ilk in the mind and makes it real, taking to the class war to extremes, shooting people in the street by BB gun.
WORDS - 1,750

The air sombre. ‘Defendant do rise,’ instructs the judge. Behind the attorney table where the judge’s gaze directed, the man and his defence attorney stand. The moment has come to hear his fate.


‘Documentation, testimony, all comprised the evidence our justice system assiduously sifted through to reach conclusion it leads to and in turn a verdict. On the count of malicious assault inflicting a wound – not guilty.’


The defendant hugs their counsel in relief.


‘In so far as the law made me. Summing up all detail of this trial guilty you are. A stiff sentence I am precluded handing down due to constraints the law binds me, an applier of justice to. Free to go.’


The man’s expression had by then become dour, but in no hurry to stay any longer and proceeds walking. The judge stands suddenly, declaring, ‘You’re free to go to the lowest circle of Inferno!’ and blasts twin Glocks at them maniacally.


Fade to black.


That ladies and gents is justice served.


Reality returns in a short moment.

The judge seated in the rear passenger seat of the court bestowed Volvo XC90 SUV; roof mounted blue light flashing among the traffic, light rain completing the picture.


Actions shaped by my take on lawfulness – the flotsam forced am I to spare or give a light brush (light sentence). Criminal court my tenth circle. Someone said was nine. The ride halts at their well-appointed home. The guard producing an umbrella shielding their charge from the drops. Desilva Rasmuss discharges the guard and driver.


Pop it goes, a rat stumbles. My true interpretation of law.


A person has been shot adjacent a telephone pole.


Was your time! My lawful duties reach true extent when I reach home and remove my judge’s robe. My steed a rented Mazda under nom de guerre, rubber burns as I speed away. With it under witching hour cruise the mean streets and when I find them and I do, engage in what little contribution I can lay upon the world’s rotting carapace.


Low income areas, aptly the “festering sore”, the target of doing a fraction of what I wished, the shackles of the profession frowns at. A wholly skewed interpretation if I do say so myself. Urban and underserving to be called rural. The city is…unkempt, those of a lower economic spectrum do something to cities: a splendid city takes something transferred from what the state, civil society chose to designate “citizens”. Smoking, cursing, card gambling, clothes, sleep, eructation.


Their existence.


Dare say my eyes shrunk seeing those young men wear pants low, “sagging” the lingo. The tune is wanting a better life outcome emigrate to urban trappings. We are the second to last drop off. Gaol earns distinction for end of the road. “We” a small pool of judges compared to the mountain of cases assailing.


Underappreciated enter your vocabulary? 


My purposeful work are in like areas. I blast away. Gun pops, rat drops under multiple impacts, ride speeds off, Engine revving.


Drop harder!


That “something” is “grime.” 99.98 percent of Joe public do not have to touch. Granted a decent percentage have to see their crass displays. We judges wear our law degree on our back. Sleeve? Hah! Five days weekly enter our courtrooms. All the professional class mentality is no glove.


HAVE TO TOUCH! Manner of speaking.


A court officer of character cannot be expected with any sensible mind to let the above remain the zenith. This case was due for my bench. Defendant had everything against them.


Then in the morning courtroom repeats - vestibule of hell.


Presiding from the bench is yours truly. Luckless straw I drew again.


Behind the attorney table an accused and his counsel rise up as the judge entered and took their seat at the bench. The room is quiet generally because the persons are quiet. The judge in their chair attentive.


I engage in conversation with the arraigned. ‘Can you read, write and understand the English language? Can you hear and understand me properly? Understand you have a right to counsel from beginning to end of this case? Understand if you are without funds the court will appoint one for you? Understand and satisfied with the advice received thus far?’


For the uninitiated “counsel” is a lawyer. That semi insulting probing? Responsibilities as judge is examining if competent to stand trial. 

‘You as of today arraigned under private prosecution. All you say must lie within the truth and perjury against this court is forbidden. “Arraigned” is when a defendant is brought up on charges and asked to plea; “private prosecution” is where an individual or organization levies a case against the defendant and not a state prosecutor. Is it judgment of the defendant to decline testifying in their defense? That said how do you plead?’


From under my mighty bench my arm rears it up, life of its own, that Uzi automatic takes aim. Straight line of red dots bloom one above the other, perfectly vertical, bottom of the chest, the neck, the face above, those above the eyeballs grey at the cranium. My gut says guilty as sin. Written all over him he’ll commit perjury. Nothing gained by “innocent till proven guilty.”


Double J – Double Justice. DJ – pop off in the street or sanctify my court.


Imagination all it was inside the courtroom. Nevertheless, have no illusions to whether I’m righteously driven. Save diligent tax payers thousands over a jail stint keeping their ticker beatin’.


Walking a lit parking lot, a person rattles around struck from a Mazda creeping alongside the lot. As if certifying its handiwork for the next few moments stops, then accelerates away at average speed. Felt no urgency by speeding away F1 style.

The judge stalks the city, driving the road another witching hour.


This court officer continues other lawful, thankless duties. Moreover, deserve accolade for being purposeful, clearing this grime. Those too low a class in society I shoot by BB gun. The imposition of pain I entrust to make undesirables think twice planting feet in my fair city. It IS a class war!


Save the taxpayers treasure. Community service; counseling implacable minds; lockup? Spent better. I know better than those moralists. Experience was my guide climbing that Purgatorio.


Final verdict anew, the judge dims the headlight beams and slows to a crawl. Urchins on the sidewalk smoking, 10 o’clock position. Reaches and takes the gun off the passenger seat, that window come down.


Justice lay a hand…


Author’s note – a darksome class war waged by an upper crust imagining oneself superior, one entrusted to protect no less. Lesson here a headcase is not limited to your preconceptions. Still one like that would have their champions of their brand of justice.

The first title I went for was Double J, and considered five more in the running. Then a Tuesday at watching anime a character in anime Berserk, likely the witch girl spoke the title of this piece and I thought where I can put it, happy I don’t have to store it away.

Then a Monday searching for when I began to write in earnest and notes prior collected, another word for “Darkness” and I substituted.

Took the chance as I tend to infused a bit of my life into narratives – inflicting a wound.

Those semi insulting questions? From a rapper Eminem case. Always intended to watch court inspirtarionally and I believe I entered his name in a search on entirely different grounds last week and voilà.

Last work Devil Marcy Untamed was child friendly and I felt for something less so. As for origin, years ago had a scene in my head of a judge blasting a criminal in court unable to accept letting them go.

A stylistic choice is keeping the sex up to your imagination, features in my When Calamity Screams For the Flame.

What do you feel the judge refers to by Inferno? Find other lines here connected?

Date - 15 September 2020.


Submitted: September 16, 2020

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Hmmm. A judge who thinks he does not have to accept the findings of the jury... I bet there are some out there that fit the bill.

Thu, September 17th, 2020 6:40pm


No jury ever came up and I am on your case so to speak, people can have common ground with the judge.

Thu, September 17th, 2020 12:11pm

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