The shooter said goodbye to his love as the bullets pierced through her body. At least that was how he described it. He recounted feeling an infinite amount of guilt as her woes and cries amplified every millisecond ticking by. At this point, there were tears streaming down his face at a thundering rate slowing down the presentation of his case. Details mixed with stuttering breaths overpowered the shooter’s testimony. The judge was so intrigued in the trail and simply nodded his head in acceptance at every memory the shooter accounted trying to be neutral I assume. There was no sternness towards this guy and I thought the trial would be as strict as the ones they show on television, but so far everything had been mellow. The shooter had been giving his case for a while and I begin to throw my head back in shock at the horrific scenes he is painting for us. Gruesome details plagued my mind and echoes of a clear childlike shame command his voice.
“She shot me down over and over.” He paused struggling perfidiously to take his breath. “Why do women overlook men who want them and give them an infinite amount of attention?” The judge murmured under his breath, “I know” in response. I rolled my eyes at the insensitive comment and continue to hear the shooter’s testimony.
With a sudden change in volume, he yelled causing me to flinch. “I would call, knock on her door, polish my suit, research her life to avoid insensitive questions, and buy what her parents couldn’t afford just like any gentleman would. And she shot me down.” His tears were making a grand entrance again, this time not as rapidly. “I didn’t want any other man around her so I broke into her apartment. I saw her dropped her keys while she was gracefully jogging to her musical notes into the radiant park. I was watching her because there were reports of a few robberies in the park. She always jogged at six in the evening right after work in order to get her hours of exercise done. The moment that key feel out of her right pocket of the jacket her grandmother gave her before she passed away, it was a message. It was an opportunity, a key to her heart, and I wanted to return it to her when the moment was right. I was going to give her the key the same day, but she surprisingly had a spare key under her welcome mat as she searched her pockets in confusion looking for her apartment keys. I tried my luck again the very next day at work asking her out and she rejects me cold-blooded in front of the employees again. To make matters worst, she threatened that she will tell the boss and have me written up for sexual harassment. As if I have ever touched this girl which I haven’t judge, I swear.” The judge replies, “I see…” in an angelic manner.
The shooter continues with, “I was furious and this girl was out of her mind. I took my chances and left work early to go to her house before she tried changing the lock. I bombarded into her place, waited behind her floral couch that was a gift from her trash ex-boyfriend. Keys jingled, the knob turned, the floor creaked and face not even fully turned to the front met the bullets. Her cries haunt me until this day I stand by you judge. So I had to pacify her, shooting her five more times. She would have wanted me to do so. A five-second thought about dismembering her came to my mind, but she deserved her body, she worked hard to maintain its beauty. My honor, I felt her spirit surround me and kiss me on the lips. I think she too has regret for what too could have existed.” The waterworks erupted soaking his striped prison outfit, cleaning his dusty handcuffs and wetting his filthy uniform.
I was in pure disbelief with limited movement and thought for humanity. Nerves aren’t nerves anymore but now an ingredient to the horror that I felt with that shooter in the room. I needed to leave the heaviness the room was exhibiting. When I first took my seat, I promised to listen to every detail and hold no biases what so ever. But upon hearing this man speak, I felt sick and wondered if that woman was me or even my mother. A moment of pure hyperventilating passed with no one saying a word. As I looked around waiting for someone to break the ice, the shooter shoots a quick glance at me and stops hyperventilating. I looked to my right hoping he would stop and he did. Though my heart was beating quickly and my palms began to sweat on my jeans. He resumed hyperventilating and looked away. His messy breathing conquered the aggravating silence skating in the room. It was finally interrupted when the judge said to an officer, “Hand me the physical evidence.”
Scuffles of paper were being reorganized by people’s hands. By the time it reached us assigned jurors, I could see from the corner of my eye by the man in the bottom row holding that photo the blood gushing out of the woman’s body. Her clothes were so drenched with her body locked on the floor. I could smell her flesh through the pic and can hear her final cries cursing this man. I looked away for a minute and soon enough the picture was two people down my row. I told the juror next to me to hand it to the person next to me because I did not want to get a full frontal view of that catastrophe. However, he simply stared at me asking, “Are you sure? She still looks beautiful enough to see.” I didn’t know how to respond let alone maintain eye contact with him. I sternly responded, “Yes, I am sure sir.”
I then noticed as the juror right below me give makes eye contact with the shooter and gives him a thumbs up. For what, I did not understand and I continued staring at the two with sheer puzzlement. It wasn’t until for a brief second, the shooter locked eyes on me. Tears were still streaming down his face, but his eyes seemed hungry and his hyperventilating had just stopped once again. I seemed like an appetite to him and was extremely disturbed by the matter. He was still staring for the next minute and I was about to aggressively stand up when the pictures made their way back to the judge. The shooter had quit staring at me and stared back at the judge when he said, “I honor you for your honesty” as if he were a delinquent who turned himself in. With nods of remorse kicking in and the tics of the clock-punching in, the judge sat there and cried while the shooter overcame his long ongoing hyperventilating by saying, “Thank you, your honor”. The two locked eyes, crying in awe as if they were estranged siblings. At this point my confusion was absolute. He was actually sympathizing with this animal. I studied everyone around the bench to catch their bizarre reactions, but they proved to be eerie instead. Four people were sneakily smiling halfway, plotting uneasiness to the mix. Another four cried as much as the judge, nodding in acceptance of the shooter’s testimony. The other three jurors and including the police officer spared no emotion whatsoever. Like corpses struck by lightning, these people were just too spine-chilling to be around. Those stone faces gave me chills and ought to be illegal.
Soon, I knew we would have to deliberate whether he was guilty or not. I wanted no parts of this anymore knowing the world was this demonic. But literally a minute later, the judge slammed his hammer catching everyone’s attention. He sniffled and brushed away his tears as he struggled to formulate a sentence. He finally spits out the courage to rule “ The shooter not guilty.” A premature ruling with no acknowledgment of the jurors caused me to feel bewildered that what just happened has actually happened. All the other eleven jurors then stood up slowly and began clapping. The judge then joins the standing ovation by rising and clapping with the rest. The shooter then said “Thank you for understanding” in response to the madness. The claps continued on for minutes and sat by in disbelief with my arms crossed. I felt like crying for the poor victim as her voice had been so unheard in this trial. With tears now streaming down my face, I momentarily looked up to see that the shooter was staring at me the only woman in the room all while his applause was at its height. There were no tears in his eyes anymore, and no one noticed his gaze piercing towards me. I felt paralyzed with fear and I was deaf by the claps of the blind around me.