OneWord is a writers prompt that speaks to brevity. One word - in this case, trial - and 60 seconds. I'm shocked this all poured out in that time.
(of course I do a quick edit when time's up.)
Courtrooms bored him. The polished wood, the uncomfortable chairs, all those motherfuckers constantly droning on. And the suit. Fuck sakes, the suit. The white shirt was itchy from the starch – it was just out of the plastic and he was sure there were still pins in it, and the necktie that fit like a noose.
The trial had lasted most of one week and bled into the next. They gave him a haircut and a pad and a pencil, told him not to scowl. He instead drew pictures of scantily-clad women in compromising positions, until his “legal team” ripped the pad away and made faces of frustration at him.
Finally, they called him to the stand. He’d been coached, oh how he’d been coached, but he figured these fine people in the box, the ones who sat in two rows of elevated chairs, deserved to hear the truth.
Especially since he had hunted in their ranks, and they needed to know that he wasn’t the only one who burned with the hunger to see their everythings consumed.