To kill a hummingbird
His IQ is 40, his age 26, his skin colour light brown, his hair cropped short. His eyes shut, his mind absent, his will resigned. The crime he’s said to be guily of, he doesn’t even understand. His family tried everything. Associations brought out complaints, huge banners outside the courthouse and hundreds of people to manifest their anger. Justice for all, the judge said, even if the person is “simple”. Psychiatrists forgot to type their report, the kid is about to get legally put to sleep. Did he commit the crime? Probably. Does he deserve some humanity? He sure does. 11 a.m. The clock rings. The guards bring him in. A smile on his face. He still doesn’t realize where and why he’s here. He sees his mom on the other side of the thick bullet-proof window. He waves, smiling. She waves back, crying. They tie him up to the chair, prepare their instruments. Close your eyes. Please close your eyes kid. The audience keep theirs open. Justice for all, 21st century style.
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