Part VII:
As if the proceeding were a church service, where the patrons are forced to constantly sit down and rise up to show respect for the subject of their prayers. Several of the attendants were getting on in years and removed their hats or showed some other nod of respect at the moment, to avoid the pain of rising to their legs. Hobbling towards the bench himself, the most tenured judge the town had to offer quickly banged his wooden gavel and everyone in attendance quickly returned to a seated position, in a swift wave.
The fly-paper voice of the judge careened through the room, “Bailiff, please bring in the jury.”
Out they came, single file, as if they were in a processional. The first eleven members sat down in their assigned positions, leaving only the head juror standing. In his hand, he held a piece of paper that had been prepared for the judge. On the paper was the verdict of the jury.
“Members of the jury,” the judge’s voice belted out, quickly sapping any wandering thoughts in the room, “Have you come to a unanimous decision?”
“We have your honor,” spoke the head juror, Ron. Ron was a timid man, with neatly combed hair and glasses that sat low down on his nose that he spent more time looking over the top of them than through them. With a shaky hand, he handed the piece of paper he was holding in his right hand to the bailiff, who walked it swiftly over to the judge.
After taking a moment to read the paper, he asked of the jury, “And how do you find the accused?”
To be continued…
