Jury Service

by Bill Hart

Another day was underway. Once more I sat in the juror's assembly room wondering how slowly the day would pass. It certainly looked like it was going to be another long and boring day, not unlike the last two had been. I'd even finished the book, an epic of seven hundred pages, I'd brought with me from home, thinking it would be long enough to last the entire ten day stint.

Oh well. In another half-hour I'd be off for one of those famous two-hour lunches that is so common for those serving time and doing their civic responsibility. Maybe, I smiled, I could find the time to buy another book.

As it turned out, I spent the remainder of my time before lunch talking to this young and unwed pregnant woman. She was very pretty and exceptionally well-endowed with long and silky dark brown hair. At first, I had been surprised when she came over and struck up a conversation with me, until I remembered having seen her earlier trying to talk with some of the younger male jurors, who seemed to be totally put off by her pregnancy.

Strangely, the half-hour we spent talking seemed to pass in less than an instant. Too bad the rest of time wouldn't pass as quickly. But, with the juror supervisor's announcement giving the time we were to return, lunch time had arrived.

"Would you like to walk over to the mall and get something to eat." I asked her.

She smiled at me. "I'm sorry." she said. "But I've made other plans for lunch today." She waved at another young woman across the room. "Perhaps we can have lunch together tomorrow. That is, if we're both still around."

"Sure." I told her. Then I watched with mounting interest as she swayed over with perfect grace to join her friend.

*

Lunch was certainly nothing to write home about.

All of the fast food places inside the mall were crowded. But I should have expected nothing less. After all, it was lunchtime and there were plenty of other nearby places with hungry employees.

With all the eating places so crowded, I ended up spending almost all of my lunch break in one of the mall's four bookstores. I'd never been in a mall that had four bookstores before, and I couldn't help but wonder how any of them made enough money to stay in business.

As a result of busily browsing nearly every shelf of each bookstore, I never managed to find the time to eat. Nor did I buy anything in any of the bookstores, which made me wonder again how they could stay competitive with one another. And when, after awhile, I finally looked down at my watch, I realized it was time to return to the boredom of the juror assembly room.

But maybe, I thought as I walked back to the courthouse, I'd be able to talk with that pretty young woman some more.

*

No sooner had I returned to the assembly room, when the voice of the juror supervisor came on over the intercom. "Attention jurors." she announced. "We have had a panel call. Please listen closely. If your name is called, please answer 'here' and then report to the thirteenth floor, division X."

I wondered if I'd be called. Certainly, sitting on a panel had to be infinitely superior to sitting around in the assembly room doing nothing.

The clerk began to call names. "Alana Thomas."

"Here." answered the young woman I'd been speaking to before lunch. She got up and left for the elevator that would take her up the eight stories to the courtroom.

Oh well, I thought. So much for a resumption of our earlier conversation.

The clerk continued calling names. After each tenth name was called, she repeated the instructions to go to division X on the thirteenth floor. As she neared the sixtieth and final name for this panel, I scrunched down in my seat and relaxed figuring I was in for another boring afternoon.

"Rick Morgan." called the clerk.

I was taken completely by surprise, but still managed to answer "Here." Then, like so many others had done before me, I walked out to the waiting elevator, which took me and several others up to the thirteenth floor.

*

The prospective jurors, as they now referred to us, waited along the wall outside the courtroom for nearly twenty minutes. Finally, the court clerk came out to tell us to come inside.

As I entered, I noticed two tables. At one table sat a woman, the prosecuting attorney I guessed, all by herself. At the other table sat a man, the defense attorney I surmised, and his client, who, if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me, had to be the largest chicken I'd ever seen in my life. That was chicken as in "cluck, cluck," not as in coward. And I wondered why they'd let someone in costume appear in court.

While the prospective jurors entered the courtroom, most of us were able to find a seat in the section set aside for court visitors. But there were more people on the panel then there were seats in this courtroom. And as a result, at least a dozen people had to remain standing.

The bailiff announced "All rise" and all of us who'd seated rose as the honorable Judge Crater entered the room. After the judge sat down, the bailiff instructed us to remain standing, while he administered the juror oath to which we all answered "I do" as he finished.

"Be seated." said the bailiff. And those of us who had a chair on which to sit sat down.

"I'd like to welcome you ladies and gentlemen to my court." said Judge Crater. "We are now going to seat the first twelve prospective jurors. In doing so now, we will allow the rest of the members of this juror panel to be seated during the proceedings to follow."

"When I call your name, please proceed to the juror box and take the seat as indicated by the bailiff." said the court clerk.

I watched with some interest as the clerk called the first eight names. All of them seemed like fairly ordinary people, the kind you were likely to meet almost anywhere, as they took their places in the box.

"Juror Number Nine." announced the clerk. "Alana Thomas."

As she took her place in the box, I followed her softly feminine movements, unable to help or stop myself. I hoped no one had noticed.

"Juror Number Ten." announced the clerk. "Rick Morgan."

I stumbled to my feet, then immediately tripped over the feet of the woman who was sitting next to me. Real smooth, I thought. From the way my face felt I knew I was showing my embarrassment for being such a klutz. Alana smiled at me as I sat down taking my place in the seat beside hers in the box.

>From where I now sat in the juror box and while the clerk called the names of the final two prospective jurors, I saw the chicken head on for the first time. I was stunned, it wasn't a costume at all. It really was a chicken. But it had to be over six feet tall and weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds. It was totally amazing. It even had a chicken's beak. And its body was covered completely by chicken feathers.

How was this possible, I wondered?

But I didn't have to wait long to be given an explanation.

"This is the case of the People vs. Martin Fowler." announced the judge. "The apparent chicken seated at the defense table used to be a normal man named Martin Fowler. While employed at a place I am not permitted to name due to national security concerns, Mr. Fowler was the victim of an unusual industrial accident."

Unusual, I thought. He's a chicken. Unusual was putting it mildly.

"Having previously signed a written waiver clearing his top secret place of employment from any liability of events transpiring as a result of any incident occurring within their laboratory facilities, Mr. Fowler now stands accused of several criminal acts.

"According to the depositions obtained from other employees at his place of employment, Mr. Fowler, while working alone, a violation of company policy, in his laboratory, spilled some 'goop' on his arm."

'Goop', I thought. Oh, joy. I wondered who had given the judge his last science lesson. 'Goop,' indeed.

"Before he was able to wash this 'goop' off his arm, it was apparently absorbed into his body. According to several eyewitnesses, who may or may not be called to testify, his arm rapidly changed into a proportionately sized chicken wing, right down to the smallest of feathers.

"But the changes he underwent did not stop at his arm, as all of you can no doubt see. Eventually his body was completely changed into that of a giant chicken. Fortunately, Mr. Fowler did not lose the power of intelligent speech. Otherwise, we would have never known his side of the story.

"Mr. Fowler then went to the nearest Wisconsin Boiled Chicken outlet to complain about the senseless butchering of his chicken brethren in order to feed people who were unaware of the needless sufferings inflicted on his fellow chickens. He demanded that they immediately stop their senseless killings and refrain from selling any more chicken to feed people. And when they refused to accede, he suddenly became violent.

"Mr. Fowler pecked several people as the police attempted to subdue him. He was arrested for disorderly conduct and subsequently charged with multiple counts of assault and battery. In addition, he has also been charged with using a deadly weapon, namely his beak, in the commission of these crimes.

"Mr. Fowler has pleaded not guilty to charges and specifications."

This might be an interesting case after all, I thought. Weird, but interesting.

But first, the judge and attorneys had to weed out those of us who they felt would not or could not be fair and impartial. And the twelve of us sitting in the box would be questioned first.

The judge instructed the twelve of us seated in the box to answer the questions posted on the wall in front of the jury box. Each of us in turn told the court our names, where we lived, our occupations and where we worked, and our marital status. For those who were married, they added their spouses' occupations and places of employment. The final question concerned our previous jury experiences.

After all of us had answered those questions, the judge began to ask other questions aimed at determining our suitability to sit in judgment in the case now before his court.

"Have any of you been the victim of any crime?" asked the judge.

A simple question.

I raised my hand.

"What happened, Mr. Morgan?"

"My car was broken into." I replied.

"Was anything taken?"

"No. Whoever it was tried to steal my radio, but all they did was wreck it."

"Do you think that what happened might cause you to be unfair in deciding this matter?"

"No. Not at all."

The judge then went on to next person.

But I began to feel mine was a very insignificant crime as I listened to what had happened to some of the others. A woman in the first row had been raped. A man in the second row had been robbed at gunpoint. Another person in the front row had been badly beaten. It seemed that just about everyone had some violent crime done to them.

- - - - -

The judge wrote something on the pad of paper he'd been taking notes on, then asked his next question. "Do any of you know anyone who has ever been transformed?"

Now there's a silly question, I thought. Being transformed from one thing into some other thing just doesn't happen in real life ... but I couldn't help looking at that large chicken seated at the defense table ... at least, things like that didn't use to happen.

The man sitting next to me raised his hand.

"Yes. Mr. Krinkle."

"My wife was transformed into a reindeer, Your Honor."

I turned and looked at him with apprehension. I wished I could move to a new chair.

"When did that happen, Mr. Krinkle?" asked the judge.

"It was last Christmas Eve, sir.

"Daisy, that was my wife, and I had just gone to bed, when out in the yard there arose such a clatter. When we rose from our bed and went outside to see what was the matter, we found this jolly old bearded gentlemen in a bright red suit standing beside a reindeer laid out on the snow in obvious pain.

"Daisy asked if there was something she could do to help. The old man smiled at her, then touched his index finger to the side of his nose. Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light. The next thing I knew a reindeer was standing beside me where Daisy had been. And a young naked woman with a broken leg sat in the snow where the reindeer had lain.

"Then the jolly old man hooked Daisy up to his sleigh, and they flew off into the night."

"Is there any reason that this occurrence might cause you to be unfair in the matter before the court?" asked the judge.

"Oh no, Your Honor." replied Mr. Krinkle. "Actually, I think that things are much better now for all of us. Donni's leg has healed completely and if you didn't know she'd broken it, you'd never be able to guess it had ever been broken."

"Donni?" queried the judge.

"I thought Donni was a far more suitable name for the young woman who'd been left with me. When she was a reindeer, her name was Donner."

"And what about your wife Daisy?" asked the judge.

"She sent me a telegram last week, Your Honor. In it she said she'd decided to stay up at the North Pole. She said she met this really sensitive guy named Rudolph and was going to stay up there with him forever.

"But that's really okay with me, because Donni's better in the sack than Daisy ever dreamed of being."

Now there's a really odd person, I thought. I wouldn't be surprised to see him sent packing back to the assembly room.

- - - - -

"Anyone else?" asked the judge.

The man in front of me, juror number four, raised his hand.

"Yes. Mr. Borsows."

"Last summer, my cousin and her husband took a cruise to some exotic island in the Mediterranean.

"When they came back after several weeks, she was a boar and he was a sow. But it didn't seem to bother either of them at all. And, as I always, if something doesn't bother the people it happened to, then it sure as hell doesn't bother me.

"Besides your honor, if you toss out the switch of genders, it wasn't really much of a change for either of them. My cousin has always been a total bore anyway, and her husband could never find the courage to say no to anything she told him to do."

"Do you think that what happened to them might, in some way, cause you to be unfair to Mr. Fowler?"

"No. I don't think so."

- - - - -

"Anyone else?" asked the judge.

The woman in first juror box slowly raised her hand.

"Yes. Mrs. Kitler."

"That's Ms. Kitler." she corrected the judge.

"Of course, Ms. Kitler. Please excuse me. Could you tell the court your story."

"It happened to my neighbor.

"He found this really old Seagram's bottle in the alley behind his house. And when he rubbed it to clean off some of the encrusted dirt, a rummy old genie appeared in a puff of smoke.

"You should know, Your Honor, that my neighbor has been a big fan of the comedian Redd Foxx since long before he made it big on that television show of his. He was devastated when he died.

"Well, sir, that genie gave my neighbor a wish as a reward for freeing him from that old bottle. He used it to wish he could be a young Redd Foxx.

"I guess the genie didn't understand his wish exactly. I mean he couldn't have seen much in the way of television programs after having been cooped up in that Seagram's bottle for such a long time. The genie granted his wish by actually turning him into a young red fox.

"Only he wasn't a he anymore, he was a she - a young red vixen. And with her transformation, she had become frightened and very skittish around people. When the animal control people arrived, they took her to the zoo."

"Do you think what happened to your neighbor might have any effect on your ability to be fair and impartial in the case pending before this court?"

"Not at all, sir.

"In fact, now that she's adjusted to being a fox, she seems to be very happy at the zoo. And the zoo was certainly pleased at obtaining a young vixen just entering her prime reproductive years."

- - - - -

Just then, another woman seated in the front row began to wail. "I can't take anymore of this insanity!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"What's wrong, Mrs. Watlock?" asked the judge, as he motioned to the bailiff.

"It's my husband." she continued to sob.

"We were out on our daily walk last week, when this old lady, who lives in a large house made of gingerbread and other confections over on Happy Desserts Road, came up to him and gave him this juicy looking red apple. But when he bit into it, he was totally disgusted at finding a half a worm inside.

"When he started to complain to the old lady about finding the worm," her sobbing intensified in volume, "he was suddenly transformed into a fat juicy worm himself. Then the old lady casually picked him up and fed him to her own chicken."

"Do you think that incident might interfere with your ability to be fair and impartial to Mr. Fowler?" asked the judge.

She eyed the chicken seated at the defense table with absolute contempt. "How could I ever be fair to someone who might be a cannibal." she moaned as tears flowed down her face like water flowing out from behind a broken dam.

Oh, boy, I thought. I figured she wasn't going to be around for very long. But then, I wouldn't be surprised if this whole crowd didn't all wind up with vacations in rooms with heavy rubber padding on the walls.

- - - - -

"Any one else?" asked the judge.

The young woman at the end of the upper row raised her hand shyly.

"Mrs. Pintah."

"Yes, Your Honor." she answered very quietly. "It was my husband. He was transformed into a car?"

"When did that happen?"

"Last Sunday." she replied in the same quiet voice. "It had always upset him that he'd never been able to own one of those classic Mustang convertibles. And as he slept, Your Honor, somehow he became one.

"It was very strange, Your Honor. I was laying right there beside him when we went to sleep. And when I woke up, our bed and my husband had vanished. I was in back of a Mustang convertible."

"How do you know your husband became the car?" asked the judge.

"When I started the engine, it purred just like he did when we ..." she broke off unable to continue.

"Very well, Mrs. Pintah." replied the judge. "Do you think that your husband becoming a car might cause you to be unfair in deciding this trial?"

"No. I don't think so." she whispered. "Sometimes I miss him, but I've never owned a car before. And he gets almost unbelievable gas mileage now."

- - - - -

"Any one else." asked the judge again.

Hoping we'd heard the last of these unusual occurrences, I sighed to myself, as juror number five raised his hand.

"Yes. Mr. Spillman."

"My wife was transformed once, Your Honor."

"Would you tell the court just how was she transformed?" asked the judge.

"Well, Your Honor." he quickly scanned the courtroom. "She used to be a guy once - my best friend actually.

"Chuck, that was my wife's name before she was transformed, and I were in the mall one day scoping out all the foxy babes. I'm sure you know how they all seem to congregate in the mall.

"Anyway, we saw a couple of simply gorgeous foxes come out of this really strange looking little shop tucked away in an almost totally deserted little alcove. We figured if those foxes were in any way representative of the babes inside, then we had to go inside too.

"But when we went inside, we heard this little bell over the door tinkle. Then this really odd-looking old guy wearing the rattiest old bathrobe I've ever seen greeted us both by name. But there weren't any babes inside and both of us were really disappointed.

"I guess the old man could see the total disappointment on our faces. He told us that we needed a change in our lives and that we were getting too old to keep hanging out at the mall and chasing babes. I thought, he was one really weird dude. I mean, you never get too old to chase babes.

"Then the old man held out this girl's watch on a golden chain. He said one of us, he didn't care which one, needed to wear it before we would be able to leave his shop. Chuck just laughed at the old man, as he took the watch and chain the old man handed him. He said he'd be happy to wear it until he found some foxy babe outside that would be impressed with receiving such a fine present.

"As I watched, Chuck casually slipped it around his neck. But while I stared on in total disbelief, Chuck's body morphed into the most absolutely foxiest babe I'd ever seen in my life.

"From that time on, she insisted on being called Cheryl. She seemed to know who Chuck was, but she couldn't remember that she'd ever been Chuck herself. Cheryl was now one hot foxy babe. And when she came over and kissed me I certainly knew the only thing that was on her mind.

"Cheryl and I were married two days later and we haven't been back to the mall since."

"Can you think of any reason or reasons that your wife's transformation might cause you to be unfair in the matter pending before this court?"

"Oh no, Your Honor. Cheryl and I are very happy. In fact, I'd say that both of us are happier now than we've ever been before. I know that I'd never want her to change back into Chuck. And I really don't think she'd ever want to change back either."

- - - - -

"Anyone else?" asked the judge.

Fortunately no one else raised their hands.

But I was still amazed at all the things I'd heard. Over half the initial panel of jurors had known someone who'd been transformed in some unusual fashion. I was beginning to think I was living an overly sheltered life.

- - - - -

Then the judge asked his next question. "Have any of you, to the best of your knowledge, been transformed."

Oh shit, I thought. That last question had been bad enough. I began to wonder what kind of odd answers this question would receive.

Until I saw Alana raise her hand.

"Yes. Miss Thomas." said the judge.

"I used to be a man named Alan Franklin Thomas, Your Honor." she said in her incredibly soft and sensuous voice.

Now hold on there, I thought. I knew that it was totally impossible for her to have ever been a man. I mean, just look at her. She was at least five and possibly six months pregnant. And besides, she just moved far to femininely and looked way to good for me to even consider the validity of her claim.

"What happened?" asked the judge, obviously as much aware of the flaws in her claim as I was.

"I was on vacation last summer in the Transylvanian Alps. I passed through a gypsy caravan on my way to an old, supposedly cursed if one believed the old legends, castle where I would be staying for a few days. But as I passed through, this pretty gypsy girl stopped me.

"Normally, I would have stopped and had some fun with her, but I was already late. I told her I couldn't stay. When she asked me where I was going, I told her about staying at the old castle. She gave me a strange little smile.

"Then she told me it was a shame I couldn't stay for awhile right now. She also apologized in advance for not being interested in me when I would return later that evening. I was confused by her mixing of tenses. Not that it bothered me then, since I had no plans to ever return to her caravan.

"When I finally arrived at the castle, the sun had just begun to set. I checked in, then went to my room. Once inside, I tossed my bags onto the bed. That was when I saw the mirror.

"It was an ancient antique mirror enclosed by an exceptionally ornate frame with detailing like I'd never seen. As I stood in front of the mirror examining it, the sun set. I thought it was my imagination when the mirror began to glow. And when I looked at my reflection, I also saw the reflection of a star.

"Suddenly, I remembered an old rhyme from my childhood. For some reason, I felt compelled to recite it. It went:

"Star light, star bright, First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight.

"Now that was strange enough, but suddenly and quite inexplicably I felt compelled to add another verse. One I'd never heard before, or would have ever imagined

"By the light of the star I see, I wish that I might be, Instead of standing here a he, A beautiful buxom wench to be.

"As I watched in total awe and fascination, my reflection and my body transformed. In moments, I had a woman's hips. And a woman's ass. And I now possessed these huge boobs.

"I was shocked. I didn't want to be a woman.

"The T-shirt and the pants I had been wearing became uncomfortable. They no longer fit my new body. I thought I packed some loosely fitting clothes that would be more comfortable.

"Then the mirror began to glow again. I dumped out the contents of my bags onto the bed. I stared at the woman's things that were now strewn about the bed.

"I turned back to mirror and was surprised once more. The pants I'd been wearing had been replaced by a long flowing skirt almost exactly like the one the gypsy girl had worn. And the T-shirt had become a skimpy top that clung tightly to my breasts and revealed the overly generous cleavage I'd been given, while baring my midriff to anyone who could see.

"But that wasn't all that had changed. My hair, which had been no more than an inch in length at most, was now several feet long. I felt it brush across my bared back as I moved.

"And my face had changed. It had become softer and less angular. As I stared at myself, I couldn't recognize the girl, who stared back, as me.

"I thought I looked pretty. But I began to worry about looking like a beautiful sexy woman. As I looked at my reflection, I began to feel aroused. I wanted this woman I had become, but I didn't want to be her. If this body I now wore had this reaction on me, then I worried how could I ever leave this room to face the lustful leers of all the men who would no doubt be appraising me as if I were just another conquest to be had.

"Once more the mirror glowed. I began to feel extremely sexy. I no longer worried what men would think of me. My body was still aroused, but now I also felt extremely horny. And I knew exactly what I needed and wanted more than anything else in the entire world.

"I was suddenly overjoyed at being who I was. I ran down to the gypsy caravan and fucked the first man I found there. I saw the girl, I'd spoken with earlier in the day. Somehow, she must have recognized me, because she smiled a knowing smile at my approach. But she was just a girl and unimportant now, so I ignored her. I found another man and fucked him too.

"In fact, Your Honor, I had the best time of my entire life that night. I think I fucked every man in the caravan, some of them more than once, before I finally returned to my room at the castle. I think that one of them, not that it matters, is probably the father of my child."

The judge grabbed his glass and took a quick drink.

I felt I needed a cold shower.

"Do you think your experiences might cause you to be unfair in the matter before this court?" asked the judge.

"Not at all, Your Honor." replied Alana. "I'm happier now then I've ever been in my entire life.

"After I returned home I could find no trace of the man I used be. My parents recognized me immediately as their daughter and if you ask they'll insist they never had a son. All my records state that I am and have always been Alana Francesca Thomas - a female. Except for what I've just told the court, that is who everyone has always believed me to be.

"And I'm really looking forward to being a mother."

I looked at her, not knowing whether I believed her story or not. In fact, I wasn't sure I wanted to believe her story.

She smiled back at me.

- - - - -

"Anyone else?" asked the judge.

But, fortunately, no one raised a hand.

Then the judge asked another question of the panel. "Have any of you ever wished to be transformed into someone or something else?"

Oh shit, I thought again. But I really couldn't believe what I was seeing now. With the exception of me, everyone sitting in the box raised their hands.

Some of them wanted to be centaurs.

Others had always dreaming of being horses.

There was one man, who, as he put it, wanted "more than anything to be a noble jackass."

A man and woman in the front row expressed their desires to be werewolves. I wondered if, now that they'd found each other, she felt any strong desires to bear his pups.

A small Hispanic woman wished she could be a were-Chihuahua.

There was a man in the front row who wanted to be woman. And one of the women seated in the back row wanted to be man. Afterwards, they kept stealing glances at each other.

I began to wonder if one of them might have some kind of secret mind transference gizmo in their possession. But at least that was a normal thought.

- - - - -

"The first peremptory is with the defense." announced the judge.

"We would like to thank and excuse juror number three." said the defense attorney.

"Mrs. Watlock, the court would like to like to thank you for your jury service. You are excused to return to the juror assembly room."

That figured, I thought. I doubted that anyone had expected her to stay very long after her outburst. Maybe there'd be another normal person on this panel after all.

The court clerk called out the replacement for Mrs. Watlock's seat. It was another young woman, Miss Sylvia Stanmeier.

"Miss Stanmeier." said the judge. "You've heard all of the questions that I have been asked to the other members of the panel. Would any of your answers be substantially different from what we've already heard from the other jurors."

"Well." she started hesitantly. "Maybe." She looked furtively around the courtroom.

"What is it, Miss Stanmeier?"

"He isn't here, is he?" she asked nervously.

"Who would that be?"

"Why that strange little boy, of course, that lives on the farm not far from where my sister and her husband used to live." she replied.

"There are no little boys present in my courtroom, Miss Stanmeier."

She looked around the courtroom. "My sister was changed into a fluffy white bunny rabbit by this little boy I was telling you about. When her husband went to his parents and complained, then the little boy transformed him into a golden eagle. The word circulating around town is the eagle subsequently ate the bunny."

"Was this little boy ever charged?"

"I don't think so, Your Honor. Nobody wants to upset that little boy. Somehow he can bend reality to his will. But then, nobody even wants to remember my sister or her husband or what happened to them out of fear of becoming something or someone else."

"Can you think of any reason that might cause you to be unfair in the case before this court?"

"I don't think so, Your Honor." replied Miss Stanmeier. "That is, as long as you keep that little boy out of the courtroom."

"Very well, Miss Stanmeier. I don't think that will be a problem." The judge turned and addressed the prosecuting attorney. "The next peremptory is with the People."

"Your Honor, the People will accept the jury as it is presently constituted."

I was shocked. I had expected the prosecutor to bump at least half of these odd people off this jury. What could she be thinking, by letting some of these people stay.

"The next peremptory is with the defense." said the judge.

"We would like to thank and excuse juror number ten." said the defense attorney.

What?

If I'd been shocked by the prosecutor's action of accepting the jury, I was even more shocked now to be excused.

"Mr. Morgan, the court would like to thank you for your jury service. You are excused to return to the juror assembly room."

Why me? I couldn't help but wonder why I'd been excused, but I also knew I'd never get an answer. Just as I'd probably never know the outcome of the trial.

I slowly rose from my seat. As I did, I heard the court clerk announce the name of my replacement. It was a woman, probably the same age as me. As we passed each other, me on my way outside and she on her way to the box, I barely missed stepping on her tail.

At least she was normal. She should be perfect for this trial, I thought, as I wandered back to the assembly room to wait for the next panel to be called.

THE END

Jury Service copyright 1998 by Bill Hart.