Short Fiction
“And were you not considered, in fact, a leader of a pernicious group of dissidents, students mostly, drunk on their own wine of rabblerousing and iconography…” Because my father went to school with the mermaid Judge (and scored higher on his mermaid LSATs) my mother was allowed to come in earlier today and decorate the mermaid courtroom with a bunch of birthday banners and party streamers and most of the people sitting behind the teams of lawyers are wearing cheap, plastic, conical hats. Sometimes I have to remind myself that things are really happening in my life. It all seems like such a joke. “Who sought to overthrow the well-established and distinguished traditions of Social Realism, Modern Realism, Post Modern Realism, Magical Realism, Real Realism…” For the first time it strikes me as odd that someone who went to school with the defendant’s father is allowed to preside over the case, but the judicial system has always been an enigmatic machine, better left to mermaid minds more talented than mine. A long time ago, when I was still studying for my mermaid LSATs, I read a book about a trial, but it was kind of like reading a book called TITS and then nobody takes their shirt off. Also, this happy coincidence has yet to work out in my benefit so far. “I asked you, son,” demands the mermaid Judge, a little more staid than before, “and how long did it take you to get through these gates you speak of in your mermaid affidavit?” “About two months, sir,” I say. There is laughter in the courtroom as if I have said something really funny, or really ridiculous. My money is on ridiculous. These days my life is pretty ridiculous-friendly so my money is definitely on ridiculous. They keep laughing now and I know that I should probably say something now. They are watching me. “I object, your honor!” screams Neal. “My client is undoubtedly suffering from hydroshock still. I move that—” “Can it!” yells the mermaid Judge. Then turning to me, he manages to calm the whole mermaid courtroom down with a well-practiced look. “Son, and why so long?”
Atticus Review│Get Lit: Round 1
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