Genesis 3

The Trial of a Fool

I. The Courtroom

The air inside the courtroom was thick with tension. The mahogany benches were packed with spectators—concerned parents, outraged citizens, reporters hungry for the most absurd courtroom drama in years. The fluorescent lights cast a cold glow over the defendant, Thomas Kessler, a man in his mid-thirties with disheveled hair and a nervous twitch in his fingers.

At the front of the room, the judge, an old, weary-looking man with a permanent scowl, sat with an air of exhausted disbelief. He had presided over many cases, but this one tested even his patience.

The prosecuting attorney, Margaret Duvall, a sharp-eyed woman with a reputation for ruthless cross-examinations, rose from her chair. She walked toward the stand slowly, her heels clicking against the tile floor like the ticking of a time bomb.

Thomas swallowed hard. He had faced tough situations before—dead-end jobs, overdue bills, a failed marriage—but nothing compared to this.

II. The Interrogation Begins

PROSECUTOR: "Mr. Kessler, let’s get straight to the point. On the afternoon of June 5th, you were at home with your two children, correct?"

THOMAS: "Yes."

PROSECUTOR: "And you turned on the gas on your kitchen stove?"

THOMAS: "Yes."

A collective gasp echoed through the courtroom. Thomas flinched.

PROSECUTOR: "And you told your five-year-old son, Elijah, not to turn on the stove. Is that correct?"

THOMAS: "Yes."

Another wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. The judge sighed, rubbing his temples.

PROSECUTOR: "Then, Mr. Kessler, you left the house. And you left your children in the care of someone else, didn’t you?"

THOMAS: "Yes, I hired a babysitter."

PROSECUTOR: "Not just any babysitter. You hired Alan Graves."

The crowd erupted into chaotic chatter. Even the bailiff, usually a statue of discipline, shook his head in disbelief.

PROSECUTOR: "For the record, Alan Graves was on parole for arson—an entire office building burned to the ground. And yet you, a father, entrusted your two small children to this man?"

THOMAS: (defensively) "I needed someone. He was available."

PROSECUTOR: (leaning in, her voice dripping with venom) "Why in God’s name did you think this would not end in disaster?"

THOMAS: (hesitant, then firm) "Because I told my son not to turn on the stove."

A stunned silence hung in the air before someone in the back of the room muttered, “Unbelievable.”

III. The Crumbling Defense

PROSECUTOR: (raising an eyebrow) "Your son, a five-year-old child, was expected to understand the severity of your instruction?"

THOMAS: "Yes. I told him not to do it."

PROSECUTOR: (checking her notes) "Yet the stove was turned on."

THOMAS: (quickly) "Yes, but my daughter did it!"

The courtroom burst into gasps. The judge’s grip on his gavel tightened.

PROSECUTOR: "Your three-year-old daughter turned on the stove."

THOMAS: "Yes."

PROSECUTOR: "Did you tell her not to?"

THOMAS: (hesitating) "No, but I expected Elijah to tell her."

Incredulity broke out in the gallery, quickly hushed by the bailiff’s stern glare. The judge exhaled loudly.

PROSECUTOR: "Mr. Kessler, let me get this straight. You expected a five-year-old boy to communicate life-and-death instructions to a three-year-old girl?"

THOMAS: "Yes."

A woman in the crowd muttered, “My God, he’s serious.”

PROSECUTOR: (pressing on) "Did you tell either of your children what would happen if they disobeyed your command?"

THOMAS: (shrugging) "No, I just told them not to do it. And they did it."

The room was dead silent for a moment before someone let out a single, incredulous chuckle.

PROSECUTOR: (smiling coldly) "But, Mr. Kessler, didn't your babysitter, Alan Graves, tell them to turn on the stove?"

THOMAS: (muttering) "Yes."

Gasps. Whispers. Someone whispered, “You gotta be kidding me.”

PROSECUTOR: "So, let me summarize: You left a gas stove on. You left your children alone with a convicted arsonist. You told one child not to turn on the stove but failed to warn the other. The convicted arsonist told them to turn it on. And you expected this not to end in a house fire?"

THOMAS: (indignant) "Because my children should have obeyed!"

The courtroom exploded into noise. The judge banged his gavel furiously.

IV. The Verdict

The judge sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase the last thirty minutes from his memory.

JUDGE: "Mr. Kessler… I have been a judge for twenty-two years. I have seen thieves, murderers, and con artists, but never have I encountered a man so catastrophically unfit to be a father."

Thomas fidgeted.

JUDGE: (leaning forward, voice like thunder) "Your negligence didn’t just endanger your children—it nearly killed them. You abandoned them with a criminal, turned your own home into a death trap, and then blamed a five-year-old child. The fact that no one died is a miracle."

Silence. Then—

JUDGE: "I find you guilty of reckless endangerment, child neglect, and criminal negligence leading to arson. Sentencing to follow."

Thomas’s mouth fell open. He turned, looking for someone—anyone—to be on his side.

V. The Aftermath

The crowd erupted.

"Monster!"

"Idiot!"

"You don’t deserve those kids!"

People jeered, pointed, and shook their heads. Even the bailiff, a stoic man, muttered, “Damn shame.”

As the handcuffs clicked around his wrists, Thomas finally realized the truth—he was utterly alone.

He was led away, drowning in a sea of hatred, his children’s faces flashing before his eyes.

And for the first time in his life, Thomas Kessler felt the weight of his own failure.