The Trial

This story was written in about an hour during an economics lecture. I've got no clue where the motivation to write it came from, but it did.

April 21, 2019

I don’t really hate bugs, my emotions and overall bug-related opinions tend to vary from one moment to the next. I consider the bug’s species, and I try my best to think about its bug friends and bug families.

Last week, for example, a menacing mosquito-eater landed near my foot as I was minding my business. Being a non-mosquito, I didn’t feel as if my life was in danger. A small voice in my head, however, felt as if this new bug acquaintance no longer deserved life.

My eyes, as they widened, indicated that my brain had begun the trial that would determine the validity of the bug’s claim to life.

In a matter of seconds, the jury, comprising solely of myself, would reach its verdict.

***

The bug, being a bug, did not have the resources to provide itself a strong defense. Aware of this shortcoming, the prosecution introduced a strong case against the bug’s life.

“It’s creepy,” said the prosecutor. “Look how creepy it is!” It is creepy, I thought. It’s actually really fucking creepy.

“Imagine if it touched you, would you provide it mercy then? With every second you waste by not terminating it immediately” the prosecutor pleaded, “you’re risking your fucking life!”

I imagined the bug in my mental courtroom, sweating it out as the prosecutor pleaded with me to end his life. The bug’s family looked on, tears in their eyes. All 438 of his bug children and his 37 bug wives were hopelessly inconsolable.

The young defense lawyer, a 4-day old housefly named Thomas Curtin, shook as he struggled to get out of his chair to deliver his argument. He glanced to his left, where the prosecution smirked with confidence.

The lead prosecutor, the decorated 3-week old hotshot fire ant Tony “The Flame” Bianchi, had never lost a case. The Flame was a local legend in the Emerald Street law community. In his extensive 7-day career, he’d put countless spiders, mosquito-eaters, and stinkbugs behind bars.

Thomas gulped. He had only finished law school 20 minutes ago. This was his first case.

“Your honor,” Thomas said as he struggled to look me in the eyes, a noticeable quiver in his voice, “this bug behind me is not a crooked man. Yes, he has eaten mosquitos in the past, countless mosquitos, in fact. But he’s a mosquito-eater. How can we persecute this poor bug for behaving the way our society has conditioned him to behave?”

Gasps filled the courtroom, which was, once again, imaginary. The prosecution ceased their quiet, overly-confident conversation. The bug, who had been hopelessly holding his bug head in his bug hands, looked up.

Thomas felt the air in the courtroom change. A feeling of confidence flowed into his tiny, tiny bug heart.

“It’s time we acknowledge how this society, and courtrooms like these, antagonize and de- humanize bugs like this for simply doing what is necessary to provide for their families,” Thomas said as he gestured with one of his fly-arms towards his client’s 438 bug children and 37 bug wives.

“Your honor,” he said, once again looking at me as I, the only human present in the courtroom, sat on the stand, gavel in hand, “do you have a family?”

I did. A small family, but a family nonetheless.

A new sense of confidence was instilled in Thomas as he began to pace back and forth in front of my desk as I loomed above him.

“Imagine if you, as well as your father, your father’s father before him, going back countless generations, in fact, had all eaten mosquitos to provide for yourself and your family,” Thomas proposed.

I nodded, indicating for him to continue his line of thinking. The Flame lurched out of his seat as if to object, but found himself speechless as he, too, wondered where Thomas’ testimony would lead. Aware of the thousands of bug-eyes upon him in the silent, imaginary courtroom, Thomas continued.

“This bug has no choice but to do what is necessary, in this modern bug society, to protect and prolong the lives of the ones he loves,” said Thomas. “It is TIME we END this era of senseless mass incarceration!”

The bug in question, his eyes now glued to Thomas as he paced back and forth, struggled to hold back the tears forming in his bug eyes. Until this very moment, he, being a bug, had never known he was capable of such emotion.

Thomas walked back to his seat beside the bug, his hands quivering as he began to process the incredible testimony he had just given.

The Flame, who had taken this specific case because he thought it was an easy one, was now scrambling as he and his team struggled to search for evidence that could compete with Thomas’ heartbreaking words.

The rest of the courtroom, however, was completely still. Bug journalists had ceased their panicked scribbling to hear my verdict. Because apparently, in bug court, the prosecution and defense only provide one testimony each. I also don’t feel as if I have the capability to write much more dialogue.

Thomas’ words echoed in my head as I looked upon the defendant. He wept as he silently plead for mercy.

“I find this bug,” I said, slowly, “NOT GUILTY of the accused crimes.”

As I slammed my gavel, the courtroom broke out into cheer. The bug defendant gave way to tears of euphoric joy. His 438 bug children and 37 bug wives cheered, for their beloved father and husband would be coming home.

The Flame rushed for the exits, angrily shoving reporters out of his way. His perfect record had been shattered.

Thomas sat in disbelief as bug journalists rushed towards him. He was now the youngest bug lawyer in Emerald Street history to win such a case. Young Tommy Curtin would be written about in bug history books for generations to come.

***

The entire trial, which, still, was entirely imaginary, had lasted only 3 or 4 seconds.

I calmly took my eyes off of the mosquito-eater in question, who, unbeknownst to him, had just been involved in what would now be known as the case of the century.