The Stop Sign. (Short Story)

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Frank sat motionless in the defendant’s chair, the weight of the courtroom pressing down on him like a coffin lid. His attorneys whispered in low tones with the prosecutor, their voices blending into the hum of a funeral dirge. He turned slightly to the right, his eyes falling on the faces of the witnesses—an old woman clutching her purse, a weary mother with her three children huddled close. To the left, he couldn’t help but see them—the people whose lives he had torn apart. Their silence said more than any verdict could.

The charges stacked against him like stones: attempted murder, attempted vehicular manslaughter, a litany of felonies that spelled the end of everything he had built. Years of study, degrees earned, a career once promising—none of it mattered now. In the eyes of the state, he was already gone. The cell doors were waiting, the walls closing in, and the cruel laughter of prison life lurked just beyond the horizon. Fear gnawed at his chest, but regret never touched him. What he had done, he would do again. A thousand times if he had to. It was the right thing, and that truth glowed inside him like the last ember of a dying fire.

He lifted his gaze toward the bench. The judge, cold and impatient, glanced at his watch, then at Frank, with a stare that could sink a ship. His lawyers had warned him: twenty-five to life, if he was lucky. The prosecutor wanted his head, wanted to erase him from the earth entirely. Frank’s ears rang, the courtroom spinning. The tick of the clock grew louder than any gavel, louder than any prayer. His body stiffened, prepared for the blow.

This was the end, perhaps. Or maybe the beginning.

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Chapter One: The Stop Sign — Jason Gunther, 2024 Short Story