Last week I did a Norman Rockwell picture story, and I have another one that I wrote last week that I'm posting today.
|This picture is called "The Jury"|
On Jury Duty
A wispy cloud hung above my head as I stared at the men gathered around me. Pulling my right foot up onto the rail connecting the front legs of my chair, I glanced at Mr. Gertum, the head juror, who was sitting at my left, his arms crossed as he peered back at me, as if trying to think me into changing my mind.
“Sally,” Mr. Grant said from behind me, trying not to let his cigarette impede his speech, “we wish you would comply with us.”
I tried to ignore the increasing cloud of smoke above my head and folded my arms. “I don’t want to comply, and it’s not right for you to try and make me.”
Mr. Busher and Mr. Gedall flanked me, Mr. Gedall staring down at me and scowling, putting his hands on his hips, Mr. Busher looking like he was trying to be friendly as he leaned across the table toward me.
“We know we cannot make you, Sally, but we all think--” Mr. Busher started, holding his hand towards me.
“You really need to try and understand what we are--” Mr. Gedall interrupted.
“But if only we could all--” Mr. Gertum began.
“Sally,” Mr. Grant said, “you need to try and cooperate a little.”
Trenton looked up from scratching his palm. He was slouching in his chair, which was situated away from the other men. “Sally, what are they asking you about?”
“They want me to change my opinion about this case,” I said, feeling that Trenton was not even trying to help me by asking.
“Wait, no, we want you to actually give an opinion on the case!” Mr. Grant said.
I turned to look at him. “But I already wrote down my decision!”
Mr. Gertum looked at the papers in his hand. “We’re missing a vote from Brenton, and your last name is Bre--”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Trenton said, picking up a piece of paper.
I stared at my brother. “Why didn’t you say something?”
He shrugged a little. “I didn’t know what they were all arguing with you about.”