An Arm and a Leg

Capitol punishment takes on a new meaning in a futuristic world

I caught my first felony at the age of 13. The year was 2050 and I remember that despite my tough upbringing, I was scared
as hell. Growing up in the slums of El Paso, Texas, I heard a lot about being locked up and what they did to young boys on the inside, hell half the people I grew up with ended up being locked up for one thing or another and all of them had stories to tell, most of which I knew was bullshit, but some I wasn’t so sure about. Had I listened, maybe I wouldn’t be in the predicament I’m in now. My life wouldn’t be on the line. I would still have all my toes and fingers and my life wouldn't be on the line. I'm reminded of that really old saying about hindsight being 20/20. I exhaled a heavy breath and looked around the room.

The courtroom is empty except for the two members of the victim’s family, a couple of guards, and the court reporter, a pretty woman with long black hair seated behind a computer terminal silently typing away at a holographic keyboard. I remember her from years ago, way before the great Merger when Juarez was still a part of Mexico. When things were less civilized. Before House Bill 666 was introduced and turned everything upsides down… at least for people like me. As much as I try, I can’t let go of the past. The hustling, stealing and drugs were fun before the Body Act. Sadly, the only thing I regret is getting caught. The merger was the beginning of the end though none of us realized it at the time. The only ones who gained were the big corporations. Looking back, it was probably what they had planned all along, except for the rapes, robberies, and murders.

The chaos that followed the Merger is what saved me the first time I went to jail. In no time, crime rose to a new high. Back then they didn't have time to deal with petty crimes like mine, so I was cut loose with a slap on the wrist. But things got worse; the rich folks got scared. Laws started to change faster than we could keep up. People were being sentenced to years for petty crimes even jay-walking got you some time behind bars. Life sentences were handed out for thefts and drug charges, but still that didn’t stop us. Soon the prisons were overrun. The rich, not wanting to give up their yachts, and country clubs to higher taxes to build more prisons, came up with House Bill 666. I guess that was supposed to be funny, but there was nothing funny about the Body Act. It was the craziest idea ever, it smashed the constitution to bits. But nobody really cared. They just wanted an end to the crime. But the craziest thing of all was that it actually worked. In downtown El Paso-Juarez, there is an entire 50 story prison of shiny glass and steel as a testament to its success. I try not to think of it. A building of haunted faces and misery.

“All rise.” The booming voice of the bailiff snatches me back to the present.

I look around the courtroom. So caught up in my thoughts I failed to notice my mother enter the room. As I stand to my feet, my spineless shrimp of a public defender enters and stands next to me. At five feet, he barely reaches my chest. The judge enters, his black robes flowing behind him like a dark specter. I have a bad feeling. My breath grows short and my heart races.

“You may be seated.” Says the judge. His voice is deep and penetrating. He regards my lawyer for a few seconds, then his eyes bore into me. It’s not the first time I’ve been here. A fact we are both fully aware of. His eyes, so pale blue they’re scary, seem to look right through me. His face is unreadable. My heart beats faster as if trying to escape my chest. Beneath the dark mahogany defense table, I cross my two fingers on my right hand. I consider crossing the ones on my left, but as of three months ago, I no longer have a left hand. Phantom limb syndrome it’s called.

“So Mr. Woods" says the judge "I see you have decided to join us yet again. I guess your last judgment wasn’t harsh enough for you to consider changing your ways. Amazing.” His eyes never blink. Judge Betelguesse; I think is a sadist, he loves watching me squirm.

“We both know you’re no stranger to crime." he continues. "The question is what is it going to take for you to change." Judge Betelguesse looks down at where my left hand once resided. A grim smile plays across his gaunt face as he adjusts a pair of round glasses that sit loosely on his sharp, beak-like nose.

“It seems that despite your recent losses, you still haven’t learned a thing Mr. Woods” He turns on the x-ray eyes full force.
I look to my lawyer for some help, hoping he’ll come to my rescue with some great legal precedent or motion, but the shrimp only stares at his shoes as if they have suddenly turned into playboy centerfolds. What a worthless little shit. I decide to take matters into my own hands.

“Your Honor, I would like to speak on my own behalf before you rule.” The shrimp looks at me as if I just slapped him. I shoot him a look and he melts back into his seat.

‘I know what I’ve done is bad, and I’m fully prepared to take responsibility. “I tell the judge trying to sound sincere. “I know the death penalty is still on the table, and I would like the court to consider….”

I watch as the judge's face contorts like something out of a horror movie.

“Stop right there he practically shouts.” The shrimp sinks lower in his chair. I’m surprised he hasn’t crawled under it. The judge eyes me with daggers.

“Mr. Woods, I know what you want. Just about every defendant who reaches this point in my courtroom asks for the same thing. Let me save you some time. The answer is no.”

Defeated I slump back to my seat. behind me my mother cries.

“I’m ready to pronounce judgment. Mr. Withers is the defendant ready?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” squeaks the shrimp. “We’re ready.”

I rise to my feet, glance down at my lawyer, consider strangling him, then figure at this point it’s not even worth it. Sweat beads on my forehead and my palm grows slick.

Judge Betelguesse leans forward on the bench. His words are slow and deliberate.
“After careful consideration, I have concluded that despite the defendant's wishes, the death penalty will not be enforced and I hear by sentence you to life.”

The gavel bangs. The family rejoices.

I fall back into my seat, stunned.

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It’s hard to believe that was only six weeks ago, but time has little meaning here. I have plenty of time to think now, it’s all I can do now anyway. I can’t even cry. I wish I could. I never thought it would come to this. I remember years ago when my buddy Carlos got popped for his first drug charge under the Body Act. He was 22 at the time. The charge cost him his middle fingers on each hand. It was widely known that the judge chose those fingers because Carlos gave the jury the bird with both fingers after they found him guilty. It was something we all admired but secretly hoped would never happen to us. But that wasn’t the case. Carlos eventually ended up doing life. He’s here somewhere in the tower with me, probably doing the same thing I am. Another street buddy, C-Note, chose to die in a shootout with the law rather than face a life sentence. He was smart. Little Boy actually made it out. A high-priced lawyer saved him from a life sentence. He got off with just an arm and a leg. He got to choose which ones.

I came to visit Carlos once when he first came here. I vowed never to return. I couldn’t stand the haunted look in his eyes. I know how my mother feels as she stares at me in horror. I hate when she visits, but I have no choice but to watch and listen as she strokes my bald head.

“You know you had a chance for a good life. I guess it’s my fault you turned out the way you did. I always hoped and prayed that you would turn your life around.” The sounds of hissing air and gurgling water make her voice sound like she speaking underwater.

“When the judge took your fingers for stealing, I prayed it would change you. Make you choose a better path. You know I always prayed for you. It was all I knew how to do. But I guess I wasn’t enough.” She says sadly, then looks around the empty visiting room and sighs.

After a moment, she continues. “It took me some time to realize that God did answer my prayers. You see you there’s still a chance to save your soul. I know you never believed in heaven, but now what else do you have? This is your chance my son, ask for what you need. And it will be given to you.”

She kisses me on my head, gathers up her purse and ends the visitation with the press of a button. No guards come to escort her out. In fact, there isn’t a single guard in the entire prison. Nobody could ever escape anyway. The light clang of mechanical gears and humming machinery fills the room and I’m whisked off back to my window that serves as my cell.

It’s another beautiful day. People move about on their business, birds sing and laughter drifts up to my ears from below. From somewhere the sweet scent of barbecue makes my mouth water. I haven’t eaten in six weeks. At least not like I used to. I follow a young couple with my eyes as they walk hand in hand, they don’t even look in my direction. Most people don’t look this way, but they know we’re here. I follow them until they're passed my field of vision. I can’t turn my head because I no longer have a neck, or arms or legs. My body is gone.

The Body Act not only reduced crime, it reduced the criminal. For every crime you were found guilty of a body part was taken. For my last crime, murder under the influence, I was sentenced to life without a body. I’m nothing more than a head on top of what looks like a large fishbowl filled with a blue, bubbling liquid that delivers oxygen and nutrients to my brain. In the glass, I can see the vague, ghostly reflection of myself. I take my mother’s advice and pray for what I need... death.