Rachel Yan (9) | STAFF REPORTER
James was taking the subway to school. I sat beside him, listening to the clacking of keys. He was typing out the essay that he hadn’t been able to finish because he had been visiting his mother last night.
I tried not to think about what will happen tonight. I tried not to think about my sentence:
Crime: murder- tier one, stage three. Punishment: 99 souls.
Beside me, James’s typing grew more panicked, his expression desperate. His eyes were bleary and tired from staying up so often at the hospital with his mother.
I wished I could say something to comfort him, but he couldn’t hear or see me. He probably wouldn’t want comfort from the person responsible for what would happen to his mother anyway.
James’ typing had become frenzied now. His expression was wild, his breaths uneven. Anger flashed across his face.
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The clacking of keys turned into a frenetic beat.
A long time ago, they had decided hell wasn’t good enough as a justice system. In order to rehabilitate someone and make them truly regret their actions, they had to learn sympathy. They had to understand the depth of the damage they had wrought.
James slammed his hand on the keyboard, then closed his laptop and sat back in defeat.
I’d been assigned to ten people already. I had watched each of them for months, seeing their lives up close. I had gotten to know them, understand them, and eventually care for them. Then I had to watch as a person they loved was taken from them.
I tried not to think of the soul I will have to deliver tonight.
