Hallucinations (rewriting post-physical publication)

Chapter 43 - (Part 1) - Only Human & If You Love Her, Let Her Finish

It is Thursday, August 1st, 2019.

A little over two months since everything that had led up to following my doom's day.

Or, if you want to be specific; it is exactly one month, and twenty-four days (54 in total) days after my doom's day.

It is Farm Girl's first, and hopefully, only trial day.

She claims from the newspaper articles in the headlines, that she is "Only Human".

Well, that will be determined by the rulers of the court.

Tonight.

Yes, I have seen into the future with the help of Ansley and my mom.

The only thing I didn't know was how nasty her charge of guilt is revealed. 

(Part 2)

"All rise".

We stand to attention.

"We are gathered here today for the trial of Ms. Lisa Ellias, former head doctor of the Health Fairview University of Minnesota Medical Center - East Bank Hospital of Minneapolis, Minnesota. And, as our standing victim, Miss Nina Montez, requested; the *no longer standing* Hospital of Minneapolis, Minnesota/Burial Field", the guard who is required to have us take our *court vows* rolls his eyes at that statement, and I fight the urge to do the same, because it would not be tolerated in this room.

But somehow he got away with it.

"And now, we give the honorable Judge Whitman our utmost respect", and he turns to where the judge himself makes his way to his bench.

"Pfft-Honorable," I scoff.

The Stenographer lady whose name tag reads; "Diana", turns around and peers at me through her half-moon glasses with narrowed eyes and pursed, bold red lips.

I wave my hands at her dismissively and shake my head.

She angrily whips her pointer finger up to her face and presses it against her lips and goes; "SHHHHHHHHH"!!!!

I lean over, because I happen to be in the front row, as I am the court victim, and whisper to her; "You're making more noise than I am".

She jerks back from me like I'm some sort of extremely contagious disease and stabs a few series of keys into her stenographer and nods in satisfaction.

"Please be seated," a voice says.

We all take our seats as Judge Whitman takes out the files for this case.

I scan the room around me and take a minute to admire the wallpaper designs and the wood carvings that line the walls while the Judge calls for a few minutes time so he can assess the evidence displayed to him.

I fold my hands politely in my lap and rest my back against the back of the bench I sit in.

The wallpaper is an ugly color of eggshell white, but it is lightened up with intercreate flowers blotted carefully around the corners, and assembling patterns in the middle of the walls.

The wood carvings that line the walls are a creamy brown color, almost a light shade of matted bronze.

The wood carvings are so unique that they are splendid to look at.

It's mesmerizing.

My lawyer (a good friend to my mom) who goes by Mr. Collins- Matthew Collins, (Matthew when he's not working) is sitting next to me, a grim expression set on his face. His hands are clasped clasped on the desk firmly in front of him and his manilla folder is stuffed full with important papers for our side of the case.