A thundering silence blanketed the courtroom. A single bead of sweat dripped from one of the jury members. The other men and women, a majority of them middle aged, averted their eyes from Harriot. If they were looking at him, Harriot knew, he would only be greeted by a chorus of unsympathetic and condemning gazes. They've probably never tasted desperation a day in their lives. Harriot was relieved they weren't looking at him. He wished he could look away as well.
The judge targeted Harriot with commanding voice,
"Harriot Jacobs, do you have anything to say?"
Harriot shook his head. His vision descended to his motionless hands on the desk.
"Very well, then. I hear there is a member of the Johnson family here with us tonight. Has she anything to say?"
A short, brown haired woman, no older than fifty, stood eminent as the men sitting next to her seemed to stoop their heads.
"You deserve to rot for what you did. Charlie...HE NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU!", she sobbed. A man sitting next to her stood and padded her shoulders with his arms. The woman began to miffle additional damnations, but what they were, Harriot could not make out underneath the cries.
"My husband, my husband..."
But Harriot had long tuned out everything. The murmurs of the audience grew louder, overwhelming the large room. Injusticed. That's how they felt.
"Ah, he got off too good. Deserved the death penalty", echoed from a burly, bald man.
"My god...poor woman. She didn't deserve this", whispered a mother.
"Good for nothing lowlife-scum, that's what he is"
Harriot's mind went hallow. Thinking about anything felt heavy. Thoughts were weighed down by a flurry of memories, regrets, vindication and fear. Harriot was weary of the weight; he refused to think.
He became dimly aware of being escorted past the aisle, coasting above the waves of anger that rose in his direction. He passed through the a door to the side of the courtroom, into a narrow, well lit hallway. The damning door shut close behind him, and silence reigned again.
Harriot lied down on the skimpy and flat bed that was the sole comfort in a dark and cold cell. He stared at the ceiling and reflected upon his childhood.
Little hands eagerly grasp themselves around a carefully wrapped box. It was coated red and green, and ornated with shiny trees. Harriot's stomach felt giddy inside. He looked over his shoulders, careful that no one would see him in his mother's room. Being extra careful to step on his toes, he swiftly retreated to the familiar comfort of his little room. Inside, cherished dinosaur figurines dotted the windowstill. There was a poster of a rocket ship on his wall, zipping past Jupiter. Harriot closed the door behind him and nested himself on his bed with his prize. He wasn't supposed to be doing this, but what harm could come from a itsy-bitsy peek? His mother said that if he was good this time, he would get a nice present. And he had been doing his best to be very, very, good this time...
He skillfully peeled off the scotch tape wrappings around the corners, and lifted up the shiny creases. He imagined he was like a surgeon performing a delicate operation. Underneath the wrappings, was a small, narrow white box, no larger than his chest. He opened the box...
It was a suit. Not for him, he knew, for he has never had to dress up nice a day in his life, and besides, it was too big to fit his small frame. A deep trepidation began to uncurl from the bottom of his spine to the rest of his body...
