Making a case for her innocence. |
Twelve adamant men, a jury of her peers all convinced, all but one, of Ramona’s guilt, of the fact she stolen photon torpedoes from the Sun Cruiser and sold them to terrorists on Orion. But this one holdout on Vega, a tall, lean man with steely eyes and thin moustache, looked about the room at the other eleven jurors, one by one, and with laser-like stare burned five minute glares into countenances made up, hard as the rare stone found in the iridium minds so common on Vega. At first, stone faces were not moved, but then, one by one the jowls began to sag and traces of relent twinkled in twenty two eyes oh so ready to put Ramona away. The jury room was silent save for the ceiling fan’s gentle hum that day. Marcus Backus did not need to say a single word; his stares, indeed were argument enough, a case of convince, a farmer planting seed into closed minds swayed by the smooth talk of prosecution’s spiel. But Marcus knew, his stomach told him, deep inside he had a feel for her innocence, the long, black hair and the beautiful dark eyes and lips that were as radiant and stunning as Vega’s night skies, a universe of charm which was Ramona, demur, milky white skin of femininity, bosomy, a smile to ward off any coldness therein. One by one each adamant man, each juror ready to set the lock changed their vote to innocent and therefore let Ramona walk. Marcus gloated for a week, proud he had stopped a wrong until they nabbed her with the goods. She was the thief all along. 22 Lines Writer’s Cramp October 24, 2013 |