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Jury Duty: Episode I - Shattered Hope
I received a letter not too long ago informing me of a civic responsibility I have as an American citizen. It was a juror summons. I was on telephone standby. I've received these before but was never needed to come in. I hope the same occurs for this yellow and white paper of doom. I will update you soon.
I called in on the day I was informed to call and luckily, my services are not needed. Yet I am still required to call the next business day, Monday. I anxiously wait for the prerecorded demon to tell me that my soul is no longer needed for sacrifice. I shall update you Monday.
I regret to inform you that my number (these monsters don't even have the decency to call me by my name) has been selected for the democratic Hunger Games, also known as Jury Duty. I am to report to the arena tomorrow at 9AM. I will leave my children with a vile woman who looks to overthrow my pre-k throne and tear away the love of my supporters. Things look grim. I'll write soon.
Jury Duty: Episode II - A Lost Hope
I arrived at the Civil court house at 8:45 to shocking line outside the building that wraps around two blocks. Is this the line to hell? If there isn't a line, I have metaphorically found it.
A kind woman in a similar predicament joined me on the line answer struck up a nice conversation. We spoke of where we would be of we weren't imprisoned here. As we moved closer to the entrance, we parted ways to be searched by the authorities' hounds. I felt so violated. Am I the criminal here? I passed their test, but at what cost?
Never have I seem a worse collection of scum and villainy. These potential jury of peers are one step away from being criminal defendants themselves. I fear for my life, if not my life, than the purity of my soul. What have I done to deserve this?
The authorities have chosen to serve the foul creatures who attempt to avoid this cesspool of degenerates. Why do they prioritize them? I patiently wait.
A servant of the dark system has begun to call names. Among the first twenty four, my name has been drawn. We were instructed to write a number on our identification ballot and were given a destination to go to. 383..is this the new numerical replacement for 666? I do not know.
We marched into a simple white room. Chairs for us subhuman, a table and thrones on wheels for the men in suits. They used a random way to select the first six people to interrogate. The interrogation went on for hours. There were private discussion taking place outside of the room. The inconsiderate person next to me made the unpleasant situation even more unpleasant. He spread his leg out enough to qualify as a Chinese acrobat. When he wasn't stretching, his legs were quivering as if his entire right leg was a shake weight.
The woman to my other side was studying a textbook. She may as well have treated her book as a coloring page due to the amount of highlighting she did per page. If the entire textbook was that important, why not spare the life of the highlighter? There is not justice in this place.
Jury Duty: Episode III - A New Hope
The longer I spend in this institution, the more I believe my work is in the classroom, helping children to not become the people in this hell. They've let us go for now, only to demand that we come back tomorrow. When will this suffering end?
I've reported back to 383 at the time they asked us to. Yet, the three suited men have not arrived. After being 10 minutes late, they've arrived. Again, the process of selecting a jury begins. Our numbers dwindle down. When will they select me? The man who describes himself as a taxi cab driver doesn't seem to understand what they are telling him. Yet, he still nods his head in agreement. I believe this is how the devil collects his souls. After a few more potential jurors go up, I am among the last four. I step outside with the suited men to plead my case. It is as if I were guilty of a crime. I told him I am needed more in my rightful place than I am here. They agreed and asked me to sit in just to not make it look suspicious. After a couple of minutes, two of the four remaining are selected and I am sent back down. I have been tricked…
I am back where I started in the beginning. This must be a sadistic joke. More people are called up to different holding cells. I pray I am not one of them. After an hour, the dark servant of the system tells the new blood that they are free to go to eat but must report back within an hour. Those that fall under my category are instructed to stay and we will not be able to feast. Salt to the wound….
There is light at the end of the tunnel! They have informed us that we are free. There is hope after all! They informed us that we have served our time and are free from this for another four years. I collected my documents proving my rites of passage and head home. Freedom never felt so good.