Flash Fiction Shots

Untitled Part 6

I was ushered out the back doors into the chilly Melbourne morning air and behind they were slammed shut. The coldness sent a tingling wave of sensation up my arm, erecting each and every hair in its path. The carbon steel handcuffs were still cold and seemed tighter than the usual stainless steel. I kept my hands clasped together and raised them to my lips to where I blew whatever warm moisture I had onto my palms. I looked up at the revealing Renaissance architecture and grinned unwillingly. The officers and guards around me kept in close proximity, ready to pounce if need be. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. The security gates opened from inside the cage of what was the defendants transfer entrance, or in my case the convicted. There was no way in hell I'd be let go or given a plea bargain of some kind. The evidence was as clear as day, as well as the motive. The escort party assisted me, their hands anchoring me further inside the girthing classical structure. It was too late to pop back outside for a fag; even so, in the current circumstances I highly doubt a soon to be convicted felon appearing before the Supreme Court would be acquitted for a smoko break. I rolled my tongue against my cheeks, savouring the remnants of the fleeting toxic oaky flavour from this morning's cigarette. I inhaled it and taking a deep breath, the cuffs were off momentarily for a routine security screening. After being flagged through without hassle, the two burly officers led me through an exotic main hallway that branched off from my initial entry point. Behind the huge carved wooden doors ahead lay my fate; one that would be sealed upon a gavel, most likely for the rest of my life. The solicitor I was appointed was with no doubt inside, awaiting to make a brusque mediocre performance in efforts to defend me as to pay the bills with his hefty government pay cheque. I'd met him twice before the hearing, I already despised him from the moment I met him. From personal analysis, he seemed the type that conceited himself for a character of "second comings". Attempting to constantly bathe in the satisfaction among peers; of changing the world through careful reformation among miscreants. He was still reasonably young (still older than myself), fairly cocky; the only real chance I had. The three of us entered in unison into an adjacent corridor just shy of the main entrance to the courtroom. The whole court was standing silently greeting each other, awaiting my arrival. Unfortunately I was not free to sit in front of the Judge and her podium because of my violent history, despite subdued behaviour since the arrest. It was a confined booth of solitude in the corner. My hands remained shackled due to the fact that I'd killed someone, even if it was voluntary. The penalty would be harsh when the sword of justice struck.

It was an agonising wait once seated, I could feel a hot flush coming on and prepared myself for the possibility of fainting. Under close surveillance, moments later I received a plastic cup of chilled water to ease any and all emotions that stirred from within my stomach. I unbuttoned the navy 'Vance' Tarocash blazer, allowing it to drape past my waist line as I slouched back briefly and placed the now empty cup below me.

"The court is now in session, everyone, please be seated." the Judge demanded.

"Now, today we have here Mr ........ on trial for the alleged voluntary manslaughter of Mr Aaron Deckard on the 11th of March, 2016 outside the nightclub 'Pinnacle'.

It went on and on, all the preliminary bullshit about what was acquitted to me; the upbringing, relationships, employment and then finally the actual case where I eventually had my say.

"...the attack was barbaric, completely uncalled for. Mr Deckard was pronounced deceased at the scene forty minutes after the paramedic's arrival; in which throughout that time they valiantly attempted to revive him but were sadly unsuccessful. The time of death was recorded at 1:34am on that same day, March 11th. The defendant, Mr ...., considering we have all eye witnesses accounted for, detailed testimonies and security surveillance covering all events that transpired that night; I ask for you to now plead you case." Judge Suverlain asked.

"Your Honour, I have nothing to say."

"I would like my client to be considered under the ailments of mental illness your Honour. As provided by myself and the defendant, the psychiatric evaluations emitted both by the courts and also social workings outside of this case; has in fact proven that Mr ... does have current recurring issues in regards to this matter." My solicitor jumped.

"Duly noted. HOWEVER. The defendant was subject to drug testing upon being placed into custody, to which the results returned positive as an extremely high volume of methamphetamine at the time of the incident. This can be seen to contradict reports with the past behavioural patterns of Mr ..., by influencing him. Once remanded a warrant was issued and Mr ... residence was searched; to which police discovered numerous firearms of a Category D & E License unregistered, with magazines and cartridges exceeding the appointed ammunition capacity. Also, a substantial amount of illicit substances with the notion of intent to sell in commercial quantity was uncovered throughout the property. Unfortunately due to the severity of the case, any possible lessening of sentence is beyond the Judicial Systems reach. The facts and evidence provided are significant and I personally believe that even without the involvement of illicit substances at the time of the attack, this incident without fault would have been conducted in the very same manner as done so. Mr ... has had a violent history as shown by countless prior convictions; it is clear that he is unable to function within such a demanding society without resorting to erratic behaviour. Rehabilitation is mandatory. The verdict of this horrendous case, among myself and the jury find that the defendant be guilty. Mr ... will serve a maximum life sentence, with parole left for future consideration due the number of serious outstanding crimes. The court will now be adjourned." The gavel struck mercilessly.

I knew the time for what I'd done would be harsh, I'd guessed with great confidence that I would get about twenty years or so and that the rest of the offences would slide on account of mental illness; just as the solicitor had assured me a number of times. I'd prepared myself, I was ready to accept my wrong-doings. It was simply inevitable after so much violence. Though I had never envisioned this. Fists clenched, a bead of sweat navigating its way down my brow; my stomach was immersed in zero gravity. That's when the searing rage fluctuated from my hands up to my throat, where it surged from behind my eyes.

"You cunt!" I'd sprung up out of my seat, the beady-eyed courtroom focusing entirely on me as I pounded against the polycarbonate windows of the booth.

"I'll fucking kill every last one of you!" My colourful tirade was cut short. As I thrashed about in my personal space, the reinforced door from behind was ripped open and before I had even realised I was being tackled to the ground by some uninvited guests. Guards and police officers came swarming into the cramped room and kept piling on top of me; trying to separate my legs and pin my arms. A blinding hose of an acidic orange/red agent was sprayed into every crevice of my eyes. It was OC spray, otherwise known as capsicum or pepper spray. Involuntary I screamed out while attempting to batter the officials by sporadically waving my arms about with great ferocity, in which I was unsuccessful. I couldn't withstand the pressure of all these blokes and started to submit. Once my arms were restrained from behind me, I was lifted and taken by four men, two carrying me by the legs and the other two under my arms; back to the secure transportation van where I was further shackled.

NEXT CHAPTER: WELCOME TO BARWON

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