Bullet Trial

The broken asphalt left pricks of pain across my palm as I pushed myself onto my feet. He caught me off-guard, slammed something across my head when I wasn’t looking. The world was blurry, but I could hear his footsteps retreating from me. I staggered forward, turned the corner and saw him scatter down the alleyway, stumbling over bags of garbage. Leaving myself a clear line of sight and glancing past him for any pedestrians, I un-holstered my gun and braced my finger against the trigger.

“ORDER, ORDER!”

I dropped my gun. In an instant I was surrounded by a din of yelling voices and screeching chairs. Before I could make out what was happening, I felt someone force my hands behind my back and cuff them together. Someone next to me muttered something under their breath. A sound – not unlike a gavel striking – rang out through a large room. The din quickly abated.

“ORDER IN THIS COURTROOM!”

My eyes started to adjust. I was sitting in the defendant’s seat in an unfamiliar courtroom before an unfamiliar judge. The man next to me – an attorney? – looked unkempt and shaken. The judge was a stern, dark-haired man with eagle-sharp eyes that scanned the room. He seemed to address everyone at once, though I could feel his gaze on me specifically.

“This court calls to order the case of defendant Officer John Timko and plaintiff Evan McLaughlin. Officer Timko is accused of intending to kill an innocent civilian. How does the defendant plead?”

“Plead?” I said. “What-”

“Not guilty!” Cried the man next to me before throwing me a rather nasty look.

The judge cast his eyes on the plaintiff. “Will the prosecution present its case?”

Down the bar, a sharp-dressed man stood up and smoothed his suit. “Thank you, your honor.” He turned to face the gallery. “Ladies and gentlemen of the courtroom, what we have here is a story as old as humankind itself. When we first dreamed of civilization, we faced a challenge: how do we enforce order when human beings are naturally chaotic and unpredictable? When good, law-abiding people found they could not trust their fellow citizens to refrain from acts of violence, they found others to protect them. These protectors, who swore under oath to place their lives on the line for the good of all men, eventually came to view themselves not as protectors, but as authoritarians, and began to abuse their position of power rather than respect it.”

I leaned over to the man who, I assumed, was my attorney. “What’s going on?” I whispered.

Through the side of his mouth: “you’re on trial.”

“For what?” I asked.

“You were about to fire your gun.”

“I was…about to fire my gun?”

He nodded, but said nothing else.

The prosecutor continued “Ladies and gentlemen, I posit to you that Officer Timko was not acting in society’s best interests by electing to fire his gun, but reacted out of incompetence and malice in a misguided attempt to illegally subdue an honest, innocent, and hardworking man.” He returned to his seat with a grin. Behind him, I could see the vague outline of McLaughlin. “The prosecution rests.”

The judge turned his attention to us. “Will the defense please present its case?”

The man next to me stood up. “Thank you, your honor. I would like to ask everyone in this courtroom to image a scenario where a dangerous individual who, despite being within arm’s reach of the law, is inexplicably allowed to go free. An individual who may be capable of incomprehensible acts of violence and inhumanity against his fellow man, who may bring incredible grief and suffering to others, who could have been stopped had the right decision been made at the right time.”

He continued his statements, arguing the decision to fire the gun as the only true possible outcome. The courtroom had a dreamlike aura to it, as many of its details were either missing or somehow off; my attorney’s shaken appearance, the haziness surrounding McLaughlin, my inability to turn and view the gallery, the lack of a jury or clerk. I could hear my attorney’s words, but they seemed to come from within my own head – more of a thought than a sound. Some time had passed before I felt a sharp nudge at my side.

“Pay attention!” Said my attorney. I raised my head in time to hear the judge clear his throat.

“After considering the statements and evidence presented by the defense and by the prosecution, I am prepared to present my verdict. I rule in favor of discharging the firearm. In the event of a missed shot, there is a sufficiently low chance of the bullet striking an innocent party. In the event of a non-lethal hit, Officer Timko can subdue McLaughlin until emergency services arrive, after which McLaughlin will be treated and arrested. In the event of a fatal injury, Officer Timko will be found justified in his decision, as McLaughlin is undeniably guilty of assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. Officer Timko, you are free to take your shot.”

The bailiff unshackled my handcuffs and slipped a pistol into my hand. As my fingers wrapped around the grip, I felt the gun rise and fire almost of its own accord. The impact of the shot rippled through my body, clearing away the haze that clouded my mind. I shook my head, blinked my eyes, and saw the lifeless corpse of Evan McLaughlin sprawled across the alleyway.