"All rise in the court room!"

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Case 22

“All rise in the  court  room!”

In swept the judge through  the now  closing double doors, the  tail of his  black robber flowing  behind him as  he strided towards his  throne at the head  of the long room. As he s at down,  he pulled  a small elliptical  brown suede box  out of t he pocket in  his  robe from  which he removed a spindly pair of thin spectacles which he proceeded to place  upon  the end of his long  crooked  nose, the black arms highlighted on his  thin grey  hair.

“Be seated” he called out in  his hoarse, aged voice. The jury  of 12 state chosen men and woman, all smartly  dressed and obviously nervous, sat  down on their long  wooden bench, as did the students in the viewing gallery above them with their clipboards out, ready to take  notes.

“Your honour, this is case number 22, in which  the accused, Mr. Stuart Bear and family are being tried on account  of the  attempted murder of the plaintiff, one Ms. Locks” stated the judges court official, who  then sat down in his enclosed stand, in between the judges raised chair and the witness box. The judge read the papers on his desk detailing the case  for  a  minute, and the only sound to be heard were  the quick  tappings of the typist who was catching up on recorded the  minutes of the officials previous statement.

“Ms. Locks, please rise to the stand and recount to the jury and myself  the events of August 17th, 1996” asked the  judge, looking up from  his papers, re-aligning his glasses of t he end of his  nose. A short girl, with curly golden locks, stood up  and walked over to the witness stand, wearing a navy blue suit with  a long navy skirt  and white shirt. She looked around like a small, lost child in a big city, as she swore an oath of truth  upon the bible.

“Please proceed.” Said the judge in reply  to Ms. Locks hesitation to  start.

“I’m sorry,  your  honour,  but just thinking  about it… it  brings  tears to my eyes, your honour!” Replied the defendant, in a  croaky,  unreliable voice.

“Well, just try…” replied the Judge in a sympathetic tone, as he cast the Bear family a look of disgust.

“I will, your honour. I remember that morning, I was walking through the forest like I normally do every Saturday morning, to deliver apples to my poor sick grandmother, who lives  right next to the police station. I always go through t he forest because its  shorter than using the busy, dangerous roads, you see your  honour. I always walk past the bears  house and  think to myself ‘Goldy’, I  think, ‘When you  get a place of your own, you should make it look just that!’ because you see it is such a  nice little house, with its smoke trail coming  from the ceiling  and the smell of freshly  baked bread always  pouring from the windows.

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However, on this particular morning, I heard screams of  anguish as I walked  past the house and , worried as I was  for the poor Bear family,  decided to knock on the door to see-“

“OBJECTION!” cried the Bear family’s lawyer, a smartly  dressed man with a top hat and black jacket and trousers, with white shirt and long, ivory cane for, I quote,  ‘professionalism.’

“Granted…” Groaned the Judge, evidently  engrossed in Ms. Locks gripping tale.

“As any member of the bear  family will tell  you,” claimed the lawyer, “no knock was heard at any-time during the entire day!”

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