THE WRITINGS OF STEPHEN JOHN MORAN
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First Light

10/20/2016

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FIRST LIGHT


            Darkness shrouds the courtyard and I lean on George. He guides me over the cobblestones and I take careful steps to keep my heels from slipping. Boots clomp in unison and though I can’t see a thing, I feel myself surrounded by men. George increases the pressure on my upper arm to stop me, murmurs and whispers filling the pre-dawn air. The men stop marching and silence overtakes the courtyard.
           From the direction of the dog kennels, I can hear chains dragging against the ground and know Saul leads the prisoner closer. As if announcing the approach, the first sliver of morning light breaks through the darkness. Ray appears at my side, an apparition, wearing a tuxedo with a red rose in the pocket on his chest. More light illuminates the courtyard, revealing blood streaks and splotches on the stone wall of the mansion.
               “You’ve been busy, my love.”
            “Doing your work, Ella.” He kisses me on the cheek and runs fingers along my bare arm. I resist the temptation to melt into his embrace and turn to watch Saul drag the prisoner to the wall. The ring of men surrounding the courtyard begin to form into a line, the rifles slung over their shoulders glinting in the light of dawn.
               “Does the condemned wish to speak?”
           The prisoner remains silent and I step forward, allowing Ray to guide me. He hands me a slip of paper, but there isn’t enough light and I throw it into the air, a gentle breeze carrying the paper a few feet before it comes to rest on the cobblestones.
              Women have endured untold violence and oppression during millennia of male rule. For most of recorded history, women were property of men and had no rights. Only in the most recent moments of time have women won the right to vote and gained access to the mechanisms of power. Yet, equality has not been achieved. Violence against women results in a slap on the wrist for perpetrators. Judges hand down lenient sentencing for rape and other crimes against women, condoning and encouraging more violence.
                In the coming war, there are only two sides for men. You stand with the rapists or you fight for women.
               A chorus of guns loading rounds echoes in the courtyard. Ray leads me to the side, allowing the line of men to march into range.
              “Men that enable rapists to escape justice commit the worst crime of all.” I lock eyes with the prisoner as morning rises in the Vegas sky. “I sentence you to die for crimes against humanity.”
             Ray takes a spot in the center of the line and Saul hands him a rifle. Loading a bullet, he takes aim at the prisoner and glances in my direction as if expecting a signal. The prisoner looks away from me, preferring to stare into the line of guns pointed at his head. I feel George near me and I know the time has come.
            “To all the men that think as you do, that women are less than, that women aren’t equal – I have a simple request. Die.”
            George clears his throat and turns to the line of men, bowtie fluttering in the early morning breeze.
                “Fire.”

            
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The Judge #Vegas #BrockTurner

10/19/2016

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THE JUDGE

       My eyes watch the monitor next to the podium. I observe a man waiting at the entrance to the theater. He's on the other side of the door and I can feel his anxiety, hands balling into fists and relaxing in repetition, again and again. Tapping my palm against the microphone on the podium to ensure I have sound, I scan the crowd. Women stare back at me, some leaning forward in the seats.
            The man raps on the door from the outside and I raise my arm.
            "Open the doors for the prisoner.”
          Saul swings the massive oak doors open and steps aside. Alone in the entryway, the man stares and blinks at the crowd of women rising to greet him. A murmur passes over the audience and I tap the microphone once more.
          "The prisoner shall take his place in the box," I say, pointing to wooden structure built into the base of the stage. The man pauses, glancing about the theater. Silence greets him and all wait for him to make the journey. Taking a few steps forward, he approaches the box and moves to the side when Saul swings the gate open to allow him access. Placing his leg into the structure, he steps up onto the prisoner podium, flinching when Saul slams the gate shut.
         “What is the meaning of this? Do you know who I am? I’m a fucking judge.” A chorus of boos from the crowd answers his tirade and I smile.
            “Not anymore. Today you will stand trial.” A loud cheer erupts from the audience, causing the prisoner to flinch yet again.
            “Trial?” He faces the women in the audience. “What are the charges?”
           Leaning into the microphone, I wait for him to turn towards me before speaking. “You are charged with crimes against humanity.”
           The prisoner begins to speak, but the roar from the crowd drowns his words in a sea of chants. Execute him! The chants swell into echoes and I close my eyes to enjoy the wall of energy emanating from the crowd. After several moments, I raise my arm and wait for silence.
            “How does the prisoner plead to the charges?”  
        The man stammers attempting to respond, but I can’t hear the response. Pounding the podium, I repeat the question.
            “I committed no crimes against humanity,” he says. “I'm not…”
         “Are you not the judge that sentenced a rapist to a mere three months in jail to protect his athletic career?” I ask, interrupting him.
           His hands ball into fists once more and he scans the room again. Is he plotting an escape attempt?
            “I was the judge in that case.”
        “Very well, you admit your guilt. The prisoner has been found guilty of crimes against humanity. Do you have anything to say before I announce your sentence?”
            “What? I said I was not guilty.” 
            His statement is met by laughter from the crowd.
            “And I said you are. I’ll repeat the question once more. Do you have anything to say before I announce your sentence?”
         He begins to answer, but falls silent and I pound the gavel on the podium. “Since you do not have any final words, I’ll read the sentence.”
         The women move towards the stage, crowding round the prisoner box. He spins in one direction and the next, eyes darting about in fear. I wait for him to turn towards me once more before speaking.
           “I sentence you to death by firing squad.”
    
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