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« on: November 04, 2013, 10:31:01 pm »
Firstly, this is not official. Secondly there is no word goal. The goal is to get writing consistently for the month, and get it out into the public.
The idea, though probably going to be loosely applied is a Captain Nemo story faintly applied through a filter of Ayn Rand. I mean that in a comedic way as opposed to literally because if you did I'm fairly certain you just get bioshock.
Gentle criticism for a fragile heart is appreciated.
The courtroom twinkled with the with flashes smartphones, every face pale and aglow from screens, soft hands tapping out whispers that disappear into the world beyond. Every TV screen and stream was tuned to the court case of the unknown man who had robbed the nuclear plant, causing untold damages, and upheaval at the failure of security to prevent him.
He was the terrorist, the mad man by design, the most evil man of his generation though you wouldn't know it to look at him in is saggy woollen jumper and his bushy grey eyebrows protruding off his chubby smiling face.
He had been captured a million times, in grainy security camera footage at first, and then a million high resolution social media shots. He had been dissected, analysed by scholars, political theorists, psychologists and all experts in the field.
He had been pushed, shared, blogged and talked about on over six million feeds, he was trending all the news sites and his hash tag had not yet been toppled even to the pop finals of the Meat factor. But the Squall rang out in union in their message of him. He was a TERRORIST. He had WMDS. He was a THREAT.
The judge sized him up and down, barely masking contempt before he composed himself and addressed the defendant.
"Your lawyer has informed me that you are to plead guilty to the crimes presented. Is this correct?"
"No your honour"
"I have a confession before me, presented by your lawyer:
"On the night of August 23rd, I and four others attempted to breach the Brockway nuclear enrichment facility with the intention of taking materials that could be used in the manufacture of weapons that could cause damage on a colossal scale. Had there not been a malfunction at the plant at the time that drew the attention of security we would have succeeded in this attempt"
I notice it's not signed... are these not your words?"
He rises, and smiles a kindly face upon the judge.
They are mine... more or less. But I am not pleading guilty, for no crime was committed. The plant had an over abundance of enriched uranium and I required some. And though the statement is factually correct, I suppose this could be used to create weapons, that was not my intent.
The malfunction as you called it was a catastrophic meltdown which only coincidentally occurred during our visit. Had I not tarried a while to relieve the failing and poorly maintained system, no one would have been aware of my presence. I was in the process of leaving when you shot and killed my companions. Furthermore-"
He is cut off by the gas canister rolling beneath his feet out into the centre of the court room. It detonates, flooding the room in dark plumes of smoke that sear the eyes and send bodies writhing in the stalls, he does his best to cover his face but it is no good.
She steps up from her seat, Black and white high heels clicking on the stone floor. Her antiquated wide brim hat holds a platinum gas filter veil to her head,.
She gently walks up behind him, stepping over bodies as she goes. She pulls off a red leather glove with her teeth and fumbles in a large handbag. Pulling out a body harness, she snaps it into place around the old mans arms, stomach and legs with heavy metal clips. He is fighting to breath, she hands him a tissue. His feet are bound in chains which she uses to drag him to out into the open courtroom floor.
Metal spikes protrude through the wall, darting past her closer then she would have liked They clatter to the floor and split four ways to form anchors. There are drawn back, and there is an agonised grinding as the wall is ripped away. A black helicopter hovers some thirty feet outside the building. Police are arriving, there isn't much time. She slips a steel cord onto the old mans back and he hurtles out of the hole into the air.
By now the smoke has started to clear. A face in the crowd valiantly holds up his camera phone, She smiles for her press and places a foot onto a trailing anchor, ascending out of the court and out of sight.
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