"Prosecution calls one Ernie Phelps to the stand."
A chubby, dense-looking man wearing a security outfit walks out of the crowd and approaches a small booth next to the judge.
"Now, Mr. Phelps," the ace prosecutor begins, "can you tell I exactly what it is you saw earlier tonight?" The security guard scratches his head and contorts his face while he thinks for a second, then starts to describe.
"Well, I was doin' my patrols, just me alone an' all, when I seen this fella standin' all suspicious-like by this vacant stand. Looked like the sort to be makin' all kinds o' trouble, so I kept my eyes on 'im. Then I seen 'im grab this little green thing like he don't even regret it, like he was proud of it or sommat. Policy's hit the alarm and detain the perps, so I hit the alarm and clocked 'im one before he got a chance to clock me back. Fella like that, stealin' without remorse, probably wouldna thought twice 'bout breakin' my neck!" The crowd gasps, as though they'd just be hit by the revelation that you actually had broken someone's neck. You just roll your eyes, realizing that this entire trial is a waste of your time - you might as well already be in a jail cell. However, the prosecutor seems undeterred by he apparent pointlessness of the trial, and continues his inquiry with the greatest of zeal.
"Tell me, Mr. Phelps, is the man who you detained in this courtroom today?"
"Well, he's on trial ain't he?"
The prosecutor smiles. "So you claim that the defendant over there" - he motions towards you - "is the perpetrator of this heinous crime?"
"Well duh."
"No further questions, your honor."
Bobby stands up, replacing the prosecutor on the courtroom floor and preparing to question the witness himself. Unfortunately, it looks like it's taking all of his concentration just to keep on his feet.
"So Mr. Phelps, you, uh, you say you caught someone red-handed stealing something?"
"That's what I just said, innit boy?" Chuckles ripple through the audience.
"Yeah... right... okay... well, are you sure? I mean, sure it's my client?"
"Yes."
"Could you... I mean, what if you're wrong? Just to make sure, could you maybe, um, point to the guy who did it?"
He points straight at you, rolling his eyes at Bobby.
"No further, uh, that is, I'm done I guess."
Done? Done?!? Your defense attorney's entire cross-examination consisted of making the witness point straight at you and say that you did it! You slouch further into your chair, now so low that your shoulders are almost touching the arm rests, and Bobby gives you a thumbs-up and a wink as he takes his seat. At least he's having a good time, you silently moan to yourself. Meanwhile, the judge has slammed his gavel a couple of times to gain the attention of everyone in the room.
"I trust we have no more witnesses?"
"No, your honor, I think we're fine with just the one." That prosecutor is one smug bastard, but given where this case is going you can understand why.
Bobby responds in kind. "Uh, no, no witnesses. Think we're good here." 'Good' isn't the kind of word you would use for it, but you just don't care anymore.
"We can move on to sentencing then?"
Slyly brushing his neatly-styled hair to one side and grinning like the Cheshire Cat, the prosecutor nods. "I don't see why not. I had the stolen toy WITH the defendant's fingerprints to present to the court, but I'm sure your honor is familiar with the evidence. Aside from that there were only the closing statements, but let's be frank here: this is an open-and-shut case. The defendant is guilty, plain and simple. I say we put this baby to bed."
"And I trust that the defense doesn't object?"
"Actually, sir, your honor, sir, I... I, um..." That's right, Bobby... don't let them just sentence you... don't let them skip the verdict... "Yeah, okay. Tried my best."
Your defense attorney returns to the crowd watching the trial, leaving you completely dumbstruck. Speaking on your behalf, he just ACCEPTS a guilty verdict? No jury and half a trial, and he just accepts it?! That's enough. You stand, slamming both hands on the desk in front of you, and then point straight at the judge.
"OBJECTION!" you scream at the top of your lungs.
"SIT DOWN, DAMMIT! That's enough out of you! Now, keep that up and I will DOUBLE your sentence!" Defeated, you sit back down, pouting. This whole trial is bullshit, you tell yourself, but the judge doesn't seem to care. "I'm going to head into my chambers to deliberate. A crime as unique as this" - because petty theft is so uncommon these days - "demands a unique punishment, and I intend to bring one about. Excuse me."
The judge disappears through a door at the back of the room, and you're left sitting with a crowd of people chatting busily behind you and that damned smug prosecutor looking at you with that massive grin on his face, waiting to find out just how screwed you really are.