Isn't it just my luck to be called to jury duty in this case? I would say I wish that this would go faster, but I get to see... her. A magnificent marble statue in the flesh, her face nearly translucent in the heavenly afternoon light shining down onto her perfect frame from the chapel-esque courtroom windows. Her expression is stone cold, though I, of course, could tell that her scowl was really a smirk. Why wouldn't it be?
She's what gets me through this wretched, monotonous, useless ceremony of presenting "facts" to the judge and jury. We all know what happened. We all know the verdict. What's the point to these charades we call "formality", in order to make the case "legitimate"? None. It's so tempting to suddenly up and run, leaving the courtroom in a casual frenzy to go let off steam, but seeing her calms me. It's like she's sending me telepathic waves of peace. Oh, how I love her presence. How I wish that the distance of this room would simply disappear.
It can't happen though. We were never meant to be, I suppose. Fate plays a cruel game, and Karma is Fate's ever faithful friend.
I am, however, so relieved when today's session ends. So eager to return to the comfortable confines of my room where she once laid. I just want to sleep where she once laid. I can escape this cruel reality, if only for a short time.
When I sleep, I dream of her. Her silky hair splayed across the pillow, her delicate fingers gently grazing my cheek as her lovely, widened and sparkling eyes gazing up at me with wonder, amongst other things. This beautiful dream soon turns surreal as her skin discolors and decays in a matter of seconds, all the while a blood-curdling shriek escapes her thin lips and pierces my eardrums. It's alright though. I awaken with a start, smiling at the sunlight on the sheets. I dreamt of her again. She was always my favorite. No one could elicit the same feelings from me that she did. No matter how many times I tried to replicate it, no one was good enough. No one could be like her.
I flash a loving smile at her when I enter the courtroom again. I've lost count of the days at this point, but I know that this hellish routine is a blessed curse that will soon end. We, the jury will be allowed to make our decision soon. I sit down in my predetermined seat and watch the defendant walk up to the stand. He looks miserable. He obviously doesn't know how to act in these situations. He's a novice. A baby. A little lost puppy.
I smile and meet the tired eyes of the man who exhausted all the possible arguments that he might be innocent. The pain in his soul brings tears to his eyes, and I can't help but to grin at him. And... something clicks in his head.
He knows, but it's far too late.
I imagine how he would sound in her stead. I want to hear him scream and yell and shriek like she did. I want him to feel the same pain as her as the blood flows gracefully out of his body.
I want to remember her in her last moments. Her silky hair splayed across the pillow. Her delicate fingers gently grazing my cheek as her widened and sparkling eyes gazed up at me in wonder, amongst other things; suffering, terror, utter horror, hopelessness. I want to remember the light slowly fading from her eyes as her thick, red blood spilled out across the sheets, staining them a brilliant crimson hue. Her smooth skin losing all its color, all its hope, all its life. Her broken voice filling my ears amongst it all, eliciting a feeling from me akin to entering Nirvana. She soon fades to a scratchy whisper, then to nothing at all. I could no longer feel her labored breathing on my cheek. Before I knew it, the most honest laugh I've ever had erupted from my chest, joy soaking every gasp. Thank God I live alone. The neighbors weren't home either.
I miss her though. I want to experience that euphoria yet again. I tried and tried and tried all I could, countless times, but none of their screeches held the same thing that hers did. None of them were memorable.
I admit to being guilty as their suspect was charged, for it was all in the name of love. After all, your first is always the most special.
