Michael A. Kechula

A Fair Trial

When Fred entered the courtroom in chains, he noticed dozens of balloons clinging to the ceiling. Some said INNOCENT, others said GUILTY.

“What the hell’s going on?” he asked his lawyer.

“Something new. Just approved by the Supreme Court. They’re called trial balloons. Saves time, effort, and money.”

“How’s it work?” Fred asked.

“See that pistol on the judge’s desk?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a BB gun. While the judge is listening to the case, if he thinks you’re guilty, he’ll shoot at one of the guilty balloons. If he thinks you’re innocent, he’ll shoot at an innocent balloon.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Not really,” said his lawyer. “Until yesterday, some cases went on for weeks at great expense to taxpayers. With this new system, a case like yours can be settled in minutes. Each judge can now process a dozen cases a day. Before long, we’ll need fewer judges, and of course there’s no need for juries anymore, so citizens can go about their business without ever having to be pestered with a jury summons.”

“But how can this be a fair trial?”

“That’s easy. When the judge starts the case, the bailiff turns on that big fan. See how it’s aimed toward the ceiling? When the fan goes on, the balloons start jumping and moving really fast around the room. That way, when the judge shoots at a balloon, say, a guilty balloon, he might miss and end up hitting an innocent balloon. Can’t get any more fair than that.”

“I see what you mean,” Fred said.

The bailiff called, “All rise. Criminal Court is now in session. Honorable Judge Carter presiding.”

“The accused will stand on the table,” said the judge. When Fred had gotten himself onto the table, the judge added, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m innocent. The witness fingered the wrong guy. I wasn’t even in town the day that woman was murdered.”

“That’s what they all say,” the judge said. Aiming toward the nearest guilty balloon, he pulled the trigger. The BB missed the bobbing balloon, ricocheted off the ceiling, and struck a guilty balloon near the back of the courtroom.

The balloon popped, and the judged banged his gavel. “Guilty as charged! Is there anything you wish to say?”

“Wait a minute,” Fred pleaded.

Before he could utter another word, the judge said, “Let it be noted in the court record that the guilty prisoner said ‘wait a minute.’ The prisoner’s counsel will now proceed.”

Fred’s lawyer took a small target from his briefcase. He got on the table and pressed it against Fred’s forehead.

“What the hell are you doing?” Fred asked.

“My duty as your lawyer.”

When the lawyer had returned to his chair, the judge said, “The prisoner will now stand at attention, face forward.”

As Fred complied, the bailiff handed the judge another pistol. Aiming at the target on Fred’s forehead, the judge pulled the trigger. Fred’s head exploded.

“Surprise,” the judge said. “This one isn’t a BB gun. Ten minute recess.”

The bailiff turned off the fan, filled a guilty balloon with helium, and let it float to the ceiling.

A clean-up crew removed what was left of Fred, and mopped up the mess.

The next prisoner entered the courtroom wondering why it was filled with balloons.

Michael A. Kechula is a retired technical writer. Since switching to fiction in 2003, he has placed first in six flash fiction contests and received honorable mentions in three others. His stories have appeared in sixty-seven online and print magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, and the United States.