It was difficult to find jurors neutral enough to be considered. It wasn’t every day that treason against the state came to court.
“Your Honour,” said the lawyer, as much for the judge as for the assembled crowd, “My client proposes that the food we live amongst, gather and eat – that gives us our very existence, is mostly comprised of organic detritus that has fallen from the sky, and is in fact… skin flakes from giant beings so large that we remain ignorant of their existence.”
There was commotion in the stands before he even finished his sentence; attendees were literally rolling all over each other.
“Order!” said the judge, rapping several gavels. The crowd settled. “Surely the defense is pulling our legs here?”
“No, your honour,” replied the lawyer, touching, smelling and tasting each juror in turn to communicate. “While we cannot prove what our client is saying, we defend his right to say it. He believes we not only co-exist with these beings, but that they are the cause of The Great Whoosh which claims us by the millions.”
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The crowd went berserk. “This is an outrage!” yelled the judge “We are adjourned for the day!”
“But your honour, my client’s already 12 days old! He’ll die in prison!” He pointed all 8 legs at his defendant, a smallish old mite, barely .25 mm tall.
“I recant!” he cried, regretting only now the cost of truth.
