The Lapse in Our Politics

Part 3: Trepidation

"...And just how long, might I ask, have you been endangering our operations for? What now... for five years have you been vile enough to bring pestilence into our minds, slowly strangling them like the snake and his rodent? You became a murderer—a deceitful, devious and absolutely cunning person who believed the world would be better under your wing. You created your own personal dictatorship. Yes, a dictator is what you made yourself out to be, General Hapkins. You've found your way down a very long, miserable rabbit hole—hitting the clockwork as you fell. Do you believe this is funny? Do you believe this is a game? Well, it is nothing of the sort. This is the exact reason you cannot continue your duties as war admiral. You have tried sir, and you have failed. The three innocent men you murdered was unmistakable; ruefully even though I had to admit it would happen eventually for someone to become so unsettled, so sick in their mind... it is truly a tragedy..." The soldier finished his abnormally long segment as prosecutor. It sliced the jury like an arrow through an apple—it would keep them interested, curious. Scowls highlighted the enraged jury's expressions, all glaring at the general on trial.

"Any comment, Defendant?" The Judge swiveled her simple gaze over to a wry man known by all as Captain Trevor Roy. In tired response, his hands reached to the charcoal table trying its best to glare off the dim light of the plastic room.

Everything was plastic to this man. The way the prosecutor vilely stated his truths and sorrows. His entire speech was littered with opinions and propaganda. All his sentiments were faux beckoning words of woe against a man (Captain Trevor knew) who hardly deserved it. The pseudo was a bitter taste to this man's tongue. And the jury had its own plain flittering, fluttering thrashes. They kept to themselves, and yet the captain knew deep down (underneath any morality and ethics) they were monsters. Alien forces of bickering eyes turned from plain neighbor to neighbor with nothing more than a few words of opinion. Oh, what an honest pity. They disgusted Captain Trevor.

Everyone in the make-shift courtroom were soldiers of some sort. They lived with emotionally-adept thoughts circling their heads. Personal, self-associated ranting pleasures they wished no one else to hear, Captain Trevor could bet. They were thinking things like 'death to the king!' as they awaited the damnation of their general. These personal thoughts were simply pleasures to the minds of those who had nothing else in their day but to await a general's capital punishment. All were plastic, in their monotonous pathetically riddled-hearts—all just in the desire to find the end to this day so they could continue to live another (but in peace).

Captain Trevor was bored, blatantly. He was bored. He had no comment, yet he had to. And with every comment he made—every plain, pointless, minuscule idea that wrapped themselves in his perfectly handwritten notes displayed under his hand—came a sense of odd relief. The side notes, inferences, and (above all) vows that Captain Trevor wrote to himself in secrecy. The notes centered around the captain's forced job: 'if no one would do the job straight out, then the captain be forced to then do it for them'. Hence the main reason for why he was the defendant of a supposed murderer, and not someone much more suited.

What problems did they believe they had? Something big? Something so unbelievably grand, all others must know of their struggle?

Captain Trevor thought not, because everyone in the courthouse was plastically plastic with more plastic to plastically spare. What a waste. The captain would kill all of them himself if he could find the chance, but the conundrums of his daily life enacted he stay silent and still. Much more unfortunately was he had no time in the day to misuse his talents for the languish audiences of the facility. Knowingly, he was a shadow (a 'defendant'): someone that one would hear about one day of what splendid accomplishments he had just made, while being completely forgotten the next. It was an easy life.