The court room was ahead. The pit of my stomach felt hollow. The guard at the door opened it and motioned that I enter. I took one step inside and could not take another. There the Judge sat on the bench and he was magnificent. I felt as if I should look away, but I simply could not take my eyes off Him. Finally, I bowed my head and crawled forward. Another guard was at the front of the courtroom. He motioned to a circle where I was to stand. I fell to my knees there, already knowing I was guilty before the trial began. I could feel the Judge looking at me, but he did not speak.
A door to the side opened and the prosecutor entered. He was a sharp man, finely dressed in lavish attire and quite intimidating. He sneered at me and whispered menacingly as he passed on the way to his spot, “You’re mine.”
“This proceeding will commence!” yelled the bailiff. “What are the charges?”
The prosecutor immediately animated with horrific retellings of the charges against me. Each word he spoke convinced me more and more of my condemnation. All the things he said were true. When it had seemed like hours had passed and I was reminded of every terrible detail of my life, the prosecutor’s monologue ended.
Everyone in the court room looked toward the Judge expectantly. I did not lift my head. He handed a piece of paper to the bailiff. “Guilty as charged,” he read.
The prosecutor shrieked in delight and drew a long knife from his coat. He moved toward me with a vicious smile on his face. I heard the door to the courtroom fling open and a man come running up toward me yelling, “Wait!” The second before the prosecutor’s knife would have found its home in my body, the man stepped in front of me and the knife plunged into his heart. He fell into my arms and suddenly, somehow I was holding the knife- it seemed I was the one that had stabbed him. He looked up at me, sweat on his brow. I knew this man was my savior. He whispered to me, “I love you. Not guilty.”