Scott could have spent eternity in the blackest of visions.
His body could have numbed out until time itself stood still. Death was his
most welcome visitor. If there was a heaven, he wanted a limousine ride to the
pearly gates. If there was a hell, at least he could stay warm when everyone
else’s hearts were cold as shit. In his mind, not even hell could match up to
the evilness of this green and blue earth. Was the devil a cool guy to hang
around? Scott banked on it since a lot of the “sinners” hung out in that fire
pit apparently.
But instead of a poker game with the devil, he survived
another round of Russian Roulette in the real world. As he awakened in his
hospital room, his head and nose ached with explosive pain. His ribs stuck out
further than his skin would allow. His depressed and anxious mood destroyed his
brain like a forest wildfire. His wrist was purple with tightness as he
discovered he was cuffed to his hospital bed. The pounding feeling in his head
and nose was because he had an IV tube stuck in one of his nostrils (presumably
because of malnourishment). To Scott the IV tube was just a clear-colored worm
from a Floydian nightmare.
The judging eyes never took their gaze off of him despite
the courtroom backdrop being replaced with hospital whiteness. A uniformed
police officer stood over his bed and scowled at him, nearly making Scott empty
his bowls of the worms that invaded his system. “Just so you know,” said the
cop. “That stunt you pulled in the courtroom isn’t going to get you out of this
mess. The trial is going on without you, which is smart on your part since your
lawyer has advised against you taking the stand.”
“But…but…” stuttered Scott. “Don’t I get to see what’s going
on at least? Don’t I have the right to defend myself?”
The cop gave a smart-assed smile and said, “I wouldn’t worry
about that if I were you. Your lawyer is quite the standup guy for someone as
low on the totem pole as him. Not bad for a public defender. But for every
point, there’s a counterpoint. The prosecutor is running circles around him. It
doesn’t help matters that all of the witnesses in this case can’t save your
sorry ass no matter what they say.”
“W…witnesses?”
“Oh yes, Scott, there are plenty of witnesses to your crime
even though you and that little girl were probably alone wherever it was you
did the dirty deed. Some interesting characters, to say the least. Principal
Linda Williams? She can’t even put a sentence together without that MSNBC
bullshit filtering through her lips. Adrienne Simpson, the girl you slept with?
She had so many tears in her eyes that it was amazing she didn’t flood the
whole damn courtroom. Now Tom Simpson, her father, that guy’s a true character
if I’ve ever seen one. He gave quite the Oscar-worthy performance. Too bad you
couldn’t see it. I would have loved to see the look on you face after all the
things he called you.”
Tugging on the handcuffs in vain, Scott’s expression turned
angry when he said, “Why are you taking so much joy in this?”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the cop said, “Because
it’s my job to take pride in my work, which is bringing justice to a place that
doesn’t care about it. All these people cry and whine that you’re not getting a
fair shake. Well, guess what, toots? Life is unfair. The sooner you accept
that, the less disappointed you’ll be with your own failures.”
Scott clenched his fists and gritted through his teeth, “You
sound just like my bastard history teacher. If I didn’t know any better, I’d
say the two of you were gay lovers at one point.”
The cop wagged his finger and said, “Careful, Mr. George,
you’re bordering on the edge of slander.”
“I don’t care!” shouted Scott. “And as long as I’m all out
of fucks to give, let me lay some more truth on your sorry ass! You know why
life is unfair?! It’s because jackasses like you intentionally make it that
way! You beat the shit out of minorities and then turn around and say that they
shouldn’t have broken the law, even though most of the time they fucking
didn’t! The whole world is onto you and your kind! I don’t care how poorly I’m
doing in history and I don’t care what generation I come from: I’m not stupid
enough to believe your horseshit! I’m more than mediocre! In fact, between the
two of us…I’m the only one who makes any sense at all!”
The cop gave a sarcastic golf clap and said, “That’s a
pretty ballsy statement coming from someone who’s cuffed to a bed. But you know
what the sad part about all that is? You’re dead on, buddy. We do keep people
down. You know why? Because that’s how we maintain order around here. Without
order, society would spiral into chaos and you liberal hippie rebels would only
have yourselves to blame. Besides, why do you care so much about what I do to
minorities? You’re a white guy. You don’t have much to hide other than the fact
that you’re a fucking pedophile. Why all the fuss?”
“Fuss? Fuss?! You want to know what the fuss is all about?!”
Scott’s eyes glowed with rage as he stared a hole through the cop’s soul. “It’s
called having empathy. You may want to try it sometime. I know other people
have hopes and dreams different from my own, so I try my best to either nurture
those dreams or stay the fuck out of those people’s ways! I don’t see any
benefit in conforming the population into one zombie mind. But that’s just my
opinion, of course. You’re entitled to your own even though you’re an ass
clown.”
The cop smiled and shook his head before saying, “You’ve got
a mouth on you, pal. If I had some medical tape around here, the only letter
coming out of that sewer hole would be M. Lots and lots of M’s. And then I
could make a joke about how your favorite candy is M&M’s. And then I could
also make a joke about how you like to say MMMMMMMMM after you’ve eaten them.”
“You have the IQ of a packet of ketchup. No wonder you hate
thinking so much: it’s not your strong suit.”
The cop stood up and slammed his knight stick against the
railing of the bed, sending a fearful jolt throughout Scott’s body. Instead of
sarcasm and corny smiles, the uniformed “ass clown” was all business and sneers.
“By the time this trial is over, you’re going to be found guilty, mark my
fucking words, dip shit. And when you put on that orange jumpsuit for the very
first time, it won’t be a matter of if you get your ass beaten. It’ll be a
matter of when. Prisoners and CO’s alike don’t care for smart-mouthed little
bitches like you, Scott. The minute you start preaching about anti-conformist
BS, your bones will crack so fucking loudly that the whole world will go deaf.”
Undeterred and unafraid, Scott leaned closer to the cop’s
face and said, “If you’re so certain I’m going to die, why don’t you finish the
job yourself…ass clown!”
The cop backed off, smiled, and said, “Nah, I’m not going to
do that. I wouldn’t deprive my colleagues at the big house of their feast of
fresh meat. And that’s what you are, Scott: fresh…fucking…meat. And speaking of
meals, enjoy the nose buffet you’ve got going on there.” With a final chuckle,
he exited the room and left Scott in a cesspool of his own rage and hatred.
“What a fucking jerk,” Scott muttered out of earshot of the
cop. He believed that statement could apply to anybody who spoke out against
him in that courthouse so many blocks away. He didn’t want to dwell too much on
what they were saying behind his back. After all, that was when anybody was
truly safe from his wrath: when it was all behind his back.
Alan Young couldn’t hang with Scott. Aloysius Striker was a
crocodile tear away from loony land. The prosecutor’s bar exam results might as
well have come back negative. Tom Simpson? He couldn’t control his own
daughter, let alone a classroom full of free thinkers and wild dreamers. Beth
George might as well be called The Artist Formerly Known as Mom. The undertaker
guarding Carter George’s grave probably related more to corpses than he did
living human beings.
“Is there anybody I’m leaving out?” asked Scott to nobody in
particular. “Eh, I’ll think of them later.”
Knowing he couldn’t be touched even when he was at his
lowest moment, Scott closed his eyes comfortably and attempted to get some shut
eye before he would eventually hear his final verdict. If there was any truth
to what the cop said about a guilty verdict, then Scott might as well have
taken a one of the doctor’s stitching kits and sewn his eyelids shut. No sense
in waking up to another nightmare. No sense in contending with people who were
and will always be full of shit.
