Joshua/The Trial of Joe Black (part 1)

/I don't know if I can deal with this now./ Joshua stands in the doorway of his room in the Arrow of Justice building, dreading actually entering the room. /It's so depressing here./ White walls, white floor, white ceiling, white bed, white furniture... hell, white EVERYHING. And all this after having to listen to gruesome stories of victim after victim. This whole thing hit just a little too close to home. Nicole's funeral was a closed-casket. The damage from the accident had been too catastrophic. They wouldn't let Joshua see his own wife's body. Today, every time they had described, or, worse, had even shown a picture of another victim he imagined what Nicole's body must have looked like in the coffin. Grisly image upon grisly image stacked themselves up in his head until he felt like he'd be completely overwhelmed and run from the room screaming. /If I'd known it would be like this I would've lied on those questions... anything to not have to sit in that courtroom./ At the time he'd thought he would be okay, but that was before he knew what was in store for him. This trial had touched a raw nerve in him and his imagination was running rampant. Terrible scenarios play through his head, over and over.

After the accident he'd been tempted, mostly by his in-laws, to sue anyone and everyone, but at the time he didn't think he could stand going to court and hearing the details over and over again. And now it was like living through that anyway.

Luckily, he'd planned ahead and smuggled some whiskey in his bags. /Now this is a reason to go into the room./ It hadn't occurred to him that his hosts certainly knew that the alcohol was there and knew what to do about it. Joshua unscrews the cap and takes a swig of the fiery liquid. Warmth. But not really a good warmth.

The alcohol isn't erasing the images from his mind. All those people, shot by this guy Black. And that's another thing. Black. /Damn, that guy scares me./ His outburst in the police videotape. He sounded like a complete wacko. Some sort of conspiracy theory or something. /I wonder how he's going to get himself out of this. Insanity?/ He certainly seemed a bit out of whack.

Joshua raises his bottle to the killer. /Bastard. If you hadn't done this I wouldn't be here./
Joshua wakes up in the morning, sprawled across the bed, the whiskey bottle still in his hand. Under the bottle's mouth were the remnants of a small pool of whiskey. The small splash of color is somehow heartening. But the hangover isn't.

And neither is the ungodly torture that happens next. Arrow of Justice takes their courtroom duties very seriously. So seriously that jurors can't be under the influence of mind-altering chemicals while on duty. And so before breakfast Joshua's blood is purged of its intoxicating elements. By removing it, filtering it, and replacing it afterward. After that he doesn't feel at all like eating. So it is that Joshua is in the courtroom before the trial begins, with a hangover and a gigantic headache. But sober. And dreading the thought of another day of the horrible ordeal that is this Trial.