"Gialla Collins," the prosecutor said my name slowly, "Known in the Alyssum area of Houston to be one of the most violent teenagers around."
"Objection, not relevant-
"Sustained," the judge grumbled.
"During one of the testimonies, one of the nice young ladies mentioned how you seemed to enjoy fighting her? Do you get any pleasure from seeing other's hurt? Her bleeding out on the pavement."
Yeah, if they talking shit about me.
"No. I just lose myself in the fights," I lied.
"Why do you let yourself get lost in said fights?" the prosecutor asked me, tilting his head.
"I don't mean to. It's out of my control," I frowned.
"So you can't control your actions," he listed off on his fingers, "And you can become extremely violent to others. You sound like a threat to society, to me. I mean, a person attacking their mother is further proof that they lack sort some of normal range of empathy."
Well, my skin color's already on the threat list.
"Ob-
"Continue, prosecutor," the judge cut in.
"You're a pretty smart girl. Clever, even," the prosector walked along the front of the bench where I sat at the front of court. "You've learned the lingo you've grown up around, maybe some from your family but mostly from those around you. You learn things about culture and subjects at school. So you're telling me you couldn't learn how to control your anger there as well? Are you going to blame your issues all on your upbringing and environment because you just didn't have the best examples growing up? Like you couldn't have learned from others around you besides your emotionally distant parents? You spend eight hours at school for months...and how many hours at home?"
"Objection, the-
"Sustained," the judge grumbled.
"How does it feel to be sitting up there on that bench, Ms. Collins? Do you think your anger will lead you back here again? What do you think about your consequence?"
"I'm regretful about everything I've done, not even just me being arrested at my apartment. All the anger and hostility really ain't me. I wanna change for the better. I'm tired of this on and off feeling inside of me. I never want to be up here again. I wanna be happy. I don't wanna hurt. I want help," I told him genuinely.
"Gialla Collins has assaulted many people. We let her go, with a light tap on the wrist after she's been arrested and what do you think she'll do again?" The prosecutor turned towards the jury. "Would you want this threat at school with your kids, your nieces and nephews, your grand babies?"
"I'm not a threat," I defended myself.
The judge gave me a stern look.
"Anything has set you off in the past, correct, Ms. Collins?" the prosecutor turned back to me, his voice falling back down to a soothing calm. "Even a mechanical pencil. No bite marks at that."
"I get irritated by little things quickly but-
"Yes or no?"
"Yes," I answered hesitantly, looking over at the people by the table there for me.
"You had her face in the pavement over a coloring pencil. No, a mechanical pencil, was it, Ms. Collins?" he asked me, gesturing to one of the girl's who gave a testimony.
"Yes sir," I mumbled.
"Who's to say you won't get mad at the mailman for dropping your package in dung on the way up your driveway, or wherever you stay, and you assault him? Who's to say you won't jump over the counter at McDonald's if you ordered only ketchup on your burger and got pickles and-
"Objection," my lawyer fired out.
"Sustained. Prosecutor, stay in line," the judge warned him.
"Do you really think you'll change, Gialla Collins?" he asked me slowly. "Because the evidence states that you probably won't. And we just can't go off probably when it comes to public safety. The public needs assurance," he chuckled, "not maybe's."
"Can I...Can I say something?" I asked hesitantly.
The judge stared at me for a moment. "Mm."
"I'm not like, some kid with a loaded weapon or something. I'm regular. I'm not a threat. I'm not out to get anybody," I explained, "I have anger issues, and yeah my past doesn't look so great and yea I've done a lot of crappy things, but I just want some help. Y'all are looking at my life on paper, and a human is much more than a bunch of letters on a sheet. I'm trying to turn my life around before I end up in jail and have my chances of a better life ruined. Now is the time where I can change. Not later, not in the far future. Now. When I'm seventeen."
"Alright. We'll be back with the results in about twenty minutes," the judge hit her gavel and I left the front of the court, coming to sit back down at the table.
"Just chill. You looked so scared up there," Tara told me, coming by the table with a hopeful smile. "I don't think you're gonna get in any trouble today."
"I hope not," I admitted, fumbling around with my hands.
The judge came back and ruled that I'd have to go to counseling, but none of this would remain on my permanent record. I was doing a happy dance inside, but on the outside I portrayed myself as only relieved. Tara and I hugged each other tight, her presence a fresh breath of relief as I breathed in the familiar smell of her detergent.
"Where are you going to stay now?"
"They said I can stay with my dad. Wherever the hell his ass is," I grumbled.
"Do you know if he's even safe to be with?"
"Guess I won't know until I meet him. I don't even have fond memories of the dude," I explained. "He really wasn't shit. It was like his whole personality was neutral. No, monotone."
"C'mon, Gialla," my lawyer pulled me to the side, "You have to do a few more things before you're free again."
"I think people like me are used to hearing that," I chuckled bitterly, following after him.
"See you on the outside," Tara waved at me.
I think we were all feeling relieved that day.
I sure was.
Comment. Follow. Enjoy.
