Courtroom Drama

Really? A courtroom drama? [whine] But I don't wannnnaaaaa!!!![/whine]

Sigh. Okay. I'll give it a shot. I make no promises.

Prompt: THEMED WORD LIST – money, foolish, kneecap, trace, widow
Genre: Courtroom Drama
Word Count: 1000 words or less
Deadline: Thursday, April 21st at 4:30ish.

Judge and Jury


"Foolish child." The mother spit the words out, each syllable clipped with disdain. "You think you can get away with sneaking out and taking my Lexus?" Not a strand of blond hair moved from her chignon as she turned and jerked the front door open. She looked back over her Armani-clad shoulder and narrowed her icy blue eyes. "You'll wish I had broken your kneecap instead."

Julia slumped in the rocking chair, one leg thrown over the wooden arm, her sliced-and-diced jeans exposing more than they covered. She picked at the chipped black polish on her right thumbnail before putting the nail in her mouth to chew it off. Better to have ragged nails than to cry. She pushed her edgy black hair out of her eyes and got up, determined to do something--anything--to get away from here.

She didn't have enough money to catch a bus. Her mother already cut off her allowance for some other made-up infraction. Balling her hands in her red hoodie's pockets, she stomped down the hallway to her room. It was no good slamming the bedroom door. No one was around to hear her. Not anymore.

She heard the front door open again and shut with a bang. Dreading what she'd see, Julia poked her head in the hallway. The witch was back, and even more mad than when she left five minutes earlier. Even the navy blue suit and pearls were threatening. Some times more than others, Julia missed her father's gentle ways. She could use a hug right about now.

"You know, I'm not through with you, missy." Her mother stood in the darkened hallway, french-manicured hands resting on her bony hips, not a trace of grief evident in her posture. The picture of perfection. The opposite of Julia.

"Before you open your mouth, Mother, I have something to say." Julia advanced, tired of the berating, tired of the yelling, tired of being blamed for her father's death. Her mother, unsure of what was happening, took a tentative step back toward the living room.

"What makes you think I took your car?" Julia crossed her arms over her chest.

Her mother's eyes narrowed. "You think I don't keep an eye on the odometer?"

"Do you keep a log of the miles? Do you write down the number on the odometer every single time you park the car in the garage?" Julia was calm.

"You think I don't notice when the gas level is lowered?" Her mother's voice shook.

"Do you mark the level on the gauge each time you use the vehicle?" Julia softened her voice.

"The floormat was dirty!" Her mother's voice increased in volume.

"It was raining yesterday. Was it not? Did you not have to walk from the car to your office--and back? In the rain? In the outdoor parking lot?" Julia advanced again. Just because her mother was now a widow was no excuse for the way she'd been treating Julia.

"What do you think you are doing?" Her mother stumbled into the living room and rested one hand on the couch to balance herself while pointing the other hand at Julie. "This is inappropriate. I know you took the car, and you are grounded for the rest of the school year."

"Just like that?" Julia sighed.

"I'm the lawyer, judge and jury in this house." Her mother straightened and headed to the door, shoulders square, voice cold. "Just for that, young woman, I'm also canceling your cell phone contract, effective immediately."

Julia could hear the gavel echo. Convicted and sentenced without a fair trial. Just because she was at the wheel of the car when struck by the drunk driver who killed her father, she had no rights. None at all. She just had to wait one more year. 18 and she'd be free to grieve on her own.