The only thing I hear-or chose to hear-as the guards drag me towards my doom is the crunching of pebbles beneath my feet. The sound is pleasant, compared to the roaring of the crowd up ahead. The noise is boisterous and unsettling, giving me the strong desire to turn and run again. The people gathered for the event are screaming such profanities I'd rather not repeat. Who knew people of Kinkow have strong language?
I freeze on the spot, willing myself to disappear because it is all so overwhelming. The people are biased and angry. This is an argument I'll never win.
There is a harsh tug on my arms and I'm forced forward by the guards that flank my sides.
Even the dim-witted, gullible guards seem to hate me.
Lovely. That is just what I need; even more people to hate me.
One can think that once I stepped into the scene everything calmed down, right? Wrong.
When the people gathered for the event get so much as a peek at my face, they're up and out of their seats, rushing towards me whilst making rude gestures with their hands and words of hatred rolling off their tongues and hanging in the air. This should bother me, but it doesn't. A group of guards come up out of nowhere and force the people back to their forgotten seats. I'm surprised the guards remembered they have a job to do.
My mood brightens, even if it's for the slightest of moments. And then my eyes land them and suddenly the cold, bitter feeling of hurt and betrayal returns.
I shiver but it has nothing to do with the warm weather. I watch as he smiles at her-so broadly, so freely-that all I want to do is change that. Then she smiles back and leans against him like she's used to it, and that's when I really want to interfere.
You love each other?
Truly or just for the sake of it?
Just as these thoughts pervade my mind, a not so kind shove pushes me forward and I move, though unwillingly. My seat is slab of rock cut unevenly, cold and hard. Then I find myself reminiscing the past, remembering the trial on another day for a different reason and on a different night. That one, I got lucky. This one, I'll be fortunate enough if my reasoning ("She's mine and nobody else's.") and the people's stupidity (I do mean that in the most endearing way possible) get me the title of innocent. But I can only hope for so much.
The Shaman walks up to the podium with his robes on and the chaos that is the crowd comes to an end-for now, at least. His robes are traditional and funny looking but I don't laugh because everything is no longer funny to me. I shift my gaze to Mason's cold hard one, never regretting my decision to look at the only man on the island who will most likely get their hands on me first and skewer me. At this point, I actually don't mind.
"Let's begin," The shaman's low and raspy voice says, pulling my attention away from the Sasquatch guard. "The court knows that King Brady-the runaway buffoon who disappointed his people"-he cuts me a look, one that says he's sorry for calling me the name he's using, but I know he's not sorry-"has returned to the island. The only known reason for his returning is the Sasquatch girl and some silly love. The previous King has been convicted with the crime of escaping imprisonment, of breaking and entering into the castle."
Once the Shaman finishes, the crowd roars in anger, and throws the nearest item they can get their hands on-which both fortunately and unfortunately included coconuts and…are those someone's shoes? God, people are desperate to murder me.
"Speak, and tell the people why you did what you did."
It takes me a few moments, but I realize that the Shaman is talking and he is talking to me. I remember how he can't convict me of anything until I prove myself innocent. So, true to Boomer's words, I don't lie when I say, "What else is there to say? I came back, went for Mikayla, found that was no use and went on a mad rampage. Then I did escape the guards and broke into the castle-which, wouldn't have happened if Boomer hadn't decided to send all of the guards after me. I woke up in the dungeon and now I'm here."
"Why were you found in Makoola's room?" asks one of the members of the jury. They can actually ask decent questions? I'm surprised.
My eyes cut to the aforementioned girl, and I glare at her. Mikayla doesn't look away but looks straight at me, her eyes challenging and her posture confident. But she's worried about me, worried with the fact that if I answer the question I'll lose it again-much like I did in her room the other day-and she's obviously trying her best to hide her concern.
She's smart for thinking so.
Once that question has sunk in, a rich silence overcomes the people but it isn't a comfortable one. Yet, the tension doesn't prevent me from saying, "Why else would I be there?"
"Answer the question!" This comes from Boomer and when I meet his gaze, there's nothing but fire burning in his eyes. I didn't answer it the way he wants me to.
Heaving a sigh, I turn back to the jury and state in an oddly calm matter, "I wanted to talk to her-that's all."
"Yeah right," Mason mumbles loudly, gaining the jury's attention.
And as if the crowd doesn't believe a word anybody is saying, they pull out a stone, the same one used for mine and Boomer's last trial, and urge Mason to place his hand on it to show the truth. At first I think, everybody's lost their minds. But when the scene I remember so well-me pressing Mikayla against the wall, someone pulling me away from her, my name being called, and the darkness that soon consumed me-plays on the screen conveniently hung up behind the Shaman's platform, and everyone is giving me different looks, I realize that I'm the one who lost it.
"If you dare lie in this case," The Shaman warns me, his voice low but not very threatening, "you may as well spend the rest of your life in the dungeon."
"I'm being as honest as I can," I sneer back.
Within the next second, the stone Mason used is forced in my direction, everyone looking at me with interest, confusion, anger, and other emotions I can't name.
"If you're 'being honest,' then prove it," The Shaman matches the tone I used on him. He wants me to show everyone how I saw things, which is difficult for me because 1) Why would I? And 2) how in the world can I possibly touch the stupid rock when my hands are tied behind my back?
"I would but"-I shake my hands violently to bring his attention to the small problem-"I really can't."
Groaning, the Shaman gestures to the guards that surround me to release me from my bonds. They do so, and the Shaman says, "Just don't do anything stupid."
I place my hand on the rock, feeling its smooth and cool surface beneath my palm. I smile up at the Shaman, and compared to the other smiles I've been giving now-a-days, this one was almost genuine. Almost. "No promises."
The screen behind the Shaman comes to life again, but the scene in this one doesn't take place in Mikayla's room. Instead, it starts in the village. It's a pitch black night, with no moon looming overhead. The clouds aren't even in the sky that night. The only light source comes from the houses, but even they aren't bright enough. Everything is peaceful. It's a quite night, everyone is in a good mood and everything is well.
Then there's screaming.
"What do I have to do to satisfy you?" I hear my voice, but I am nowhere on the screen. "Become more like your dad?"
The scene shifts abruptly from the village to a beautiful brunette. Mikayla. She doesn't look very happy. Her features display a mix of anger, frustration, and annoyance. "You don't have to be like my dad."
"But I have to be like Superman or something to be your man."
"I didn't say you had to copy anyone to impress me." Mikayla's voice is calm and even, but her face is a mix of unsaid emotions.
"Candace said-"
"You believe what that girl says?" Mikayla questions, crossing her arms over her chest. "Brady, Candace lies. Her job is to tell and spread silly little rumors. You can't actually believe half the things she says." There's a moment of silence, and I don't need to look to know that she realized something. "My God, Brady. You do believe her."
"So what if I do?" My voice is rough and strong. "Now I know that I don't qualify as your boyfriend."
"Brady, it's not true!" Mikayla waves her hands wildly as if she needs me to see her perspective, to understand what she's saying. I never have, and I probably never will. "I don't want a boy who is the embodiment of some superhero. I want you for you and you don't need to be like anyone but yourself."
I snort in disgust. "Then what do I have to do, Kayla? Believe what you're telling me is right? That you actually love me and you don't wish for anyone else?"
Off screen, the current Mikayla is turned away from the crowd, from me. On the screen, Mikayla sighs and places her hand on her head as if this is giving her a headache. "Stop being so irrational and listen to me."
The screen goes blank for a moment and I know it's because I don't want people to see what happened next. Yelling. Cursing. Crying. A useless banter. So many negative emotions between only two people. The screen comes on again, and there stands Mikayla, her eyes wide and red.
"Don't walk away," she whispers, her voice soft. That's exactly what I did and kept doing every time something became too much for me to handle. I tried running away from the past, from Mikayla, from everyone and everything-from my problems. I'd get too caught up in the moment and my emotions that I tried to hide it. So I ran further and further away.
But that's stupid because you can run as far and long as you want but the problems will keep piling up higher and higher. The problems won't be gone. They'll be right there like a tsunami looming over your head, just waiting for the right moment to take you in its massive wave and drown you. You can't pretend they don't exist.
So I stopped doing that. Or attempted to, at least. But what I got was every single last person against me, and a likely chance of jail time just because I wanted to make amends. Things don't always go the way I think they will.
The scene changes and shows the events that went down ever since I returned. All but one is shown and I know exactly what it is: the kiss shared between the redhead and Mikayla. When the screen goes blank again and I'm sure everyone has seen more enough, I take my hand off the rock and place it by my side.
Everybody is quiet but for once, there is a nice kind of quiet.
"Am I telling the truth now?" I ask not only the Shaman, but Mason, Boomer, Mikayla-everyone-as well.
The Shaman says nothing whilst staring at me blankly. A jury member asks him if the jury can come to a conclusion, and the Shaman, still not speaking, gives them approval by waving his hand. The jury goes to a private room or something-I don't know where exactly but they get up and they go somewhere. They don't return for another thirty something minutes, their verdict ready.
A mermaid-seriously, who appoints these people?-holds up a paper and says, "The jury has come to the conclusion that Brady Parker is-"
"Innocent!" a different voice calls and all attention is turned to the one who said it.
Mikayla Makoola.