King Of The Court

Every afternoon, Marcus ruled the court. Sneakers squeaked as he crossed defenders, launched impossible threes, and hammered dunks that rattled the rim. His friends groaned while commentators crowned him a legend. He knew every hesitation, every perfect release, every seam in the opponent's defense. He was lightning—untouchable, unstoppable, airborne.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd’s roar thinned to a mechanical hum. “Marcus, dinner’s ready,” his mom called from the kitchen.

“Coming,” he answered, while unlocking the brakes on his wheelchair, gripping the rims of the wheels and pushing himself back from his desk. Beyond the doorway, reality waits.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. has work published at A Story In 100 Words, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and Medium.

After The Verdict

“Mr. Bromley, before I sentence you, do you have anything to say to this Court?”

“I'm innocent, Your Honor.”

“I meant anything more than that nonsense. You've been found guilty by a jury of your peers. You understand, don't you?”

“I think I would've done better with a different lawyer.”

“By the way...Why did you choose your brother-in-law, Mr. Bromley?”

“Because, Your Honor, my sister-in-law cost a lot more. But I tell you, I'm innocent.”

“I told you to stop saying that.”

“Your Honor...”

“Yes...”

“Maybe if I'd offered a better bribe? Would that have made all the difference?”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Testimony

When my car flipped in the air, I presumed that was the end, but I was alive, and my wife and daughter were gone.

It’s been many months since the accident, and it felt like yesterday. I wheeled myself into court, paralyzed from the waist down, remembering the day the doctor told me I wouldn’t walk again. I thought, it doesn’t matter, and then I remembered my son, Charlie. I needed to be strong for him, so, I struggled through physical therapy.

The heinous drunk driver was brought before the court and his fate will be awaited by my testimony.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Waiting

Everyone but Hampton looked down, eyes locked on tiny screens. Hampton’s expensive artisans of optimistic speculation could no longer sustain nervous conversation.

Hampton mindfully sipped tepid coffee. Ignoring his stomach breakdancing to the beat of butterflies, he savored a donut. He wanted to remember such simple pleasures.

Anticipation clung to them like static ready to spark and ignite...would it be fireworks or a bomb? A knock on the door shattered their reticent silence. A bailiff opened the door.

“The verdict is in. Court resumes in five minutes.”

Certain of nothing but his surreal limbo ending, Hampton stood, then vomited.

From Guest Contributor JD Clapp

On My Way?

Speeding through town, the traffic light signals me to stop. I sit. Idle. Stone faced. I’ve been stuck here many times. On my way to the wedding. On my way to the police station. On my way to the hospital. To the hospital again. Even in the ambulance, I assume. On my way to court. Now, here, I’m stopped again. Alone. My right foot yearning to push the gas. I always obey the traffic light. Red light. Red blood. My blood he committed to spilling one soul-crushing punch at a time. Stupid traffic light. Suddenly, I get the green light.

From Guest Contributor Nancy Geibe Wasson

Displacement

Love at first sight, different people from different cultures.

Driving my Pajero along the rugged coastline of Mayo. A fortnight I had lived in Ireland. Banished for my own safety; a key witness in court against something dark, dangerous. Displaced from my family for doing what was right, exiled into the night. The previous eve I lost myself in similar lanes, crying.

In daylight the shadows dispersed. He was in his tractor, he belonged, descendant of families forever etched in the Irish soil. Appointed by chance as my gardener, meeting by fate. I never once doubted. Three years married. Aliens.

From Guest Contributor Kerry Valkyrie Kelly

Outcome Blindness

Judge Lehman banged her gavel, demanding silence.

"One more outburst and I will find you all in contempt." The watchers reluctantly sat back down, their grumbles still filling the room. The judge asked the defendant to continue.

"As I was saying, the numbers clearly indicated there was an overwhelming likelihood the conflict would be resolved with a minimal loss of life. We forecast there was only a tenth of a percent chance we'd have more than 100 casualties."

The prosecuting attorney pressed on. "Over three million citizens died."

"Yes, but this was an extreme outlier. You obviously don't understand statistics."

Manufactured

The murder scene was wiped clean long before the police arrived to trample it in their carelessness. It didn't matter. Their best evidence was always manufactured.

Carl would maintain his innocence until the day he was executed. Most non-biased observers believed him. He was a convenient fall guy to take the blame for a crime that couldn't be solved. Yet no one dared leap to his defense. If the court system officially concluded Carl had murdered a family of seven while at the same time driving his taxi on the other side of the city, who was anyone to argue.