The Line

I'm sending you to the Line

All you Spanish-speaking folks, check out sergitr_1315 's Spanish translation of The Line!

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THE LINE

Skin bleached vampire white by the stark spotlight atop his head, right hand resting on a wooden gavel, the thick man in the three-piece suit shifted in his seat behind the folding table (which functioned as a desk). His eyes were hard metal disks--dull, reflecting little light.

This was all Juan could make out: the rest of the room was ink black. He knew there was an audience watching, though, even if he couldn't see it or hear it. It was an odd kind of pressure, a quiet, nervous buzz that made his skin sprout goosebumps all over.

Well, mostly the skin on his arms.

"Mr. Solo," the judge called, "step forward."

This wasn't the time to confuse recklesness with courage. With this certainty firmly in mind, Juan obeyed, feeling the floor's rough tiling with every part of his bare feet--metal toe included--as he advanced. Handcuffs surrounded his wrists, clinking chains his ankles, and the skin around the restraints was raw.

No. Not now.

But when a guard forced him to his knees, he couldn't help it.

"You can't keep me here!" Juan shouted. "I'm the son of a very important man! I have money, take as much of it as you want!

"Just let me go!"

Those last words briefly echoed round the dark room. Once the echoes died--and they died quickly--the silence was deafening.

Slowly, so slowly, the stranger rifled through the stacks of paper that littered the table. His heavy throat bulged while he swallowed--then a wide tongue flickered in-between his lips and wet them. He said, "It doesn't matter who you are. What matters is that you've been brought into my court."

Juan found himself unable to speak.

"Juan Solo, is it? It says here you were arrested for theft and a trespassing attempt."

Arrested, my eye, Juan thought. This wasn't an ordinary trial. And whoever'd dragged him into this kangaroo court definitely hadn't been affiliated with the police.

"You tried to... pilot a Zeppelin from the South Side to the North, is it?"

Juan wiped his cheeks, but more tears came. If his complexion had allowed it, his face would have been a red mess. The attempted joyride--all for the sake of impressing that girl in the blue dress--had probably been the stupidest thing he'd ever done. And that was saying something.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

I can't, he thought. I can't--

The judge made a gesture, and the invisible obstacle was purged from his throat.

Gasping, he said, "I didn't mean to cause trouble. Didn't think of the consequences. You have to give me another chance! I've got family. People who will be looking for me and asking questions. You have to let me go. You have to--"

His lips were sealed again.

"I'll say it again," the judge declared. "It doesn't matter how much money you have. It doesn't matter who comes looking for you. This court never existed. No one is menaced by your threats.

"You have been irrevocably proven guilty by the prosecution, Mr. Solo. You see, this court's job is to 'trim the fat.' There is no place in our world for criminals like you, freeloaders, or menaces to society. You have to be dealt with. You have to learn."

The judge raised his gavel. An unseen, unheard audience shuffled in their seats in anticipation.

"I'm sending you to the Line."