The jury has reached a decision.

Twelve days, twelve jurors, a day for each person gone. I wonder if their souls will go where mine does. How does God make such a decision? Who goes where and what to do with one’s soul? How do twelve complete strangers get the sublime task of deciding the fate of another person?
  
We find

That I am on the outside of the window looking in. Looking in on all of their happiness. Their families they will get a chance to go home to. They won’t feel the results of their decision on this trial. Only I will have the glory of feeling such results. They were worth it. The warm blood radiating off of my fists put me in a state of calm, having beaten twelve people to death. I still wonder today how I was able to do that. It felt natural but it was yet unnatural. What is it that they find? They find me a murderous monster. Someone who messes up the perfection of society. The way I see it if they kept people like me around disorder in this world would be a thing of the past.

the defendant

The defendant? Who are they defending here? It is certainly not me. I guess I will never know why they call it that. My lawyer he isn’t defending anything except his paycheck. He believes that I am just as guilty as the next person. He wants me to drown just like all the other soon-to-be criminals that he is being paid to defend. I don’t cry. My future is sewn up. It is in the faces and hands of their families. The stares they give me. I am shaking but not out of fear, but excitement. I do not feel remorse. I never do. What I’ve done solves everything; they won’t laugh at me ever again. Now they feel as I do. Dead. Dead inside, all feeling numb. I wish they’d hurry up and say it already… the verdict. I want to go back to my cell, alone. No one will want to mess with me now.

guilty as charged.

I did not want to hear the rest. Everything was quiet. My mother just left the room. She is an actress. She loves acting more than me. It not me is her life. I am not a part of her life. I never will be. They cuff me back up and take me away. I like to give a glare, a playful glare to the family of the “victims.” They stop to look at me; they do not move. They don’t even bother to scream. They know that no one misses them. I know I won’t. I’m walking too slowly, but I see the doors. The bright light burns, being absorbed by the many black coats that that whisked me away.