Signatures of Justice

Ten a.m. The birds were singing of spring, but winter's chill cut through the air. Soft sunlight filtered into a comfy office space, but no warmth remained behind these walls. Voices echoed along the glass windows, but the blinds remained closed. And darkness sat beside him as he stared at the back of the heavy, wooden door.

James was bred of law. His bookshelves were full of text that guided him. His soft, brown eyes found his heroes, Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle, but their knowledge could never have prepared him for this. And right and wrong swirled together in a pool of dust that drifted to the floor, pulling his silent thoughts with them, and the burden of this case dug further in. But he was trapped, and they waited for him.
But his heart was screaming, begging for justice, and never did he hold the gavel so tightly in his hand. His mind demanded order, but chaos reigned through him. Testimony thundered through his ears, and objections rained down, striking cold tile. And he had to call a recess, but why couldn't he excuse himself? Why couldn't the decision just be made, but who were they to play God?

And who was he to take their lives? He sat there with no emotion. His hands remained folded in his lap. Light trickled across his pale skin, but death filled those dark eyes. And his lawyer patted his arm, giving him support, but there was no secret to what this man would have done, if not caught. And if released, he would do it again, and there would be no stopping him. And they would be dead.

So many monsters walked these streets. So many of them sat before him, awaiting justice, but their sentence would never bring back the dead. And the loss of life would remain like a ghost haunting those torn apart, and he would never give them peace. And their eyes would plead for a heavier sentence, a final decision, and their tears dripped down their cheeks like justice crying blind. But he was bound by law.

How could so much Hate still exist in this world? A new century had dawned around them, and promise had glistened along its silver lining. And then it fell away, and the world broke apart. So much knowledge stood proud along strong bookshelves, but where have those leaders gone? And who would follow in their wake, and why couldn't someone tell him how to proceed? How should he handle the trial that awaited his presence, and what if his ruling was not sound? What then? Would another monster go free?

The hounds of media waited outside. Signs of protest swung angrily back and forth. Innocence stood by the curb, watching the pages of history unfold. Revenge slid along cold caliber, and tension was locked and loaded. And the center of attention remained seated, awaiting verdict, and his twelve peers struggled to remain objective. But how could clarity be ignored when it was so crystal clear?

A hard knock broke him from his reverie. It was time. A decision had to be rendered, and witnesses still waited to be called. And the news would recall his actions, hold him in account, and the world fell heavily against his shoulders. But there was no choice. There was no one else, and it had to be him. His decision would turn the tide of history and sound through time, but how would he be remembered? And would justice rest with his signature?