500 Words

When the government initially brought in the 500 word limit on defendant statements in the court, the overriding rationale extolled both by the government and the enthusiastic right wing press was that, by so limiting the amount the accused could say in their own defence, the overall length of a trial, and therefore correspondingly the cost, would be reduced significantly.

It was also argued that the fairness of the proceedings would be improved by limiting the extent to which the personal charm and persuasive (but insubstantial) rhetoric of the defendant or their legal team would affect the outcome of trials by appealing to and inflaming the inherent biases and prejudices of the jury.

The final major claim for the necessity of the limit was that, by forcing the defendant to concisely focus their statements on the matter at hand, truth (now unvarnished) would be more transparent and lies (now unembellished) more apparent.

The ultimate reasons the police force and the Crown Prosecution Service were so enthusiastic about the limit were more prosaic and less idealistic, however: they believed they would lead to an increase in conviction rates.

For example, in cases where the details of the crime as laid out by the prosecution were heavily disputed by the defence, pleas for leniency or even acquittal based around mitigating circumstances or diminished responsibilities were likely to be reduced, for it would likely be unwise to waste now precious moments on such extraneous and often emotional details, rather than to concentrate as concisely as possible on the factual details that could prove beyond doubt an individual’s innocence.

Conversely, in cases where the facts were harder to dispute, pleas for leniency would take precedent over arguing the details of the case itself (in America, where plea bargaining is much more common, conviction rates approach 95%, whereas in the UK, where it is relatively rare, conviction rates hover instead at a lowly 80%).

The government’s reasoning behind the change was more ideological still. The limit was devised as a method to reduce complex argumentation around points of law, thus forcing simpler, more “commonsensical”, readings of statute and precedent. (The state itself was still free to argue at an increased level of complexity when it desired, due to no reciprocal limit on word usage by the prosecution.)

In this way, the legal system was able to be brought in line with a laypersons everyday understanding of the law of the land (actually, a mutually beneficial state and media induced representation of such). This reduced law and justice to, in effect, a feeling of what was right, so that the (inevitable) guilty verdict carried with it an emotional certitude and populist appeal to natural justice that together overpowered any argumentation or dissent by oppositional voices. The people’s law spoke for the people. Opposition to the law was, therefore, opposition to the people.

In this way, justice became retribution.

“18 words of your personal limit left,” the court clerk advised me.

I’ll have to use them well.

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Notes:

1. I wrote this in 2010
2. Apparently
3. I don’t really remember it but it’s in my notes so I probably did
4. It probably felt like satire at the time
5. But now I’m just surprised it’s never actually happened

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Tales From The Town #243: Big School

“Big school! Big school! We’re all going to Big School!” Daniel sang as he carefully avoided the puddles that had mysteriously appeared overnight. “I’ve never even been down this path before. It’s like an adventure. On the way to school!””

“I don’t know what you’re so excited about, Daniel,” Claire said, as she carefully unavoided the puddles that had mysteriously appeared overnight. “This path’s just as stupid as the old path and big school is just as bad as our old school. Which was AWFUL!”

“You haven’t even been to the big school yet, Claire,” said Agnes, as she carefully avoided telling Claire to carefully avoid the puddles that had mysteriously appeared overnight. “It might be nice.”

“It might be not,” said Claire. “And where are Tina and Ethel anyway?!”

“Their school doesn’t start until 9,” said Agnes, as she tentatively stepped over a smashed up garden fence. “And it’s nearer.”

“Urgh! That is so unfair!” Claire said, as she crunched her way satisfyingly across loads of broken glass. “No wonder they looked so smug eating their stupid cereal!”

“But they finish an hour later at Nice School,” Daniel said, limboing under a street sign that a car had half knocked down. “So we win!”

“At best that’s a draw,” Claire said. “And you’re forgetting detention, Daniel.”

“Perhaps you could try and not get put in detention this year, Claire,” Agnes suggested helpfully.

“Why would I do that?” Claire said, stomping extra hard in the final few puddles before the gates. “Detention’s the best bit.”

__________

Notes:

1. Written on September 2nd, 2026

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Magical Transformation By High Street Wiccan Shop Window Display

A shop window full of pewter dragons and figurines of fairies and imps and all those other terrible high street gift shop horrors.

“Hey look that one looks like you.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“It does, it looks exactly like you. Except for the wings.”

“But I’ve always had wings.”

“Oh, yeah. Except for the tail, then.”

“But I’ve always had a tail.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, except for the sparkling cut-diamond eyes then.”

“But I’ve always had sparkling multi-faceted cut-diamond eyes.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, it looks exactly like you except for the way it’s got its hands round that other statue’s neck.”

And she throttled him to death and flew away home to the moon.

_________

Notes:

1. Written in 2014 sometime
2. Based on a dream I had
3. And still have occasionally

__________

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“You came back”

The snow had blown in through the open door. She was sat there again on the floor, legs straight out, hands by her sides propping herself up. Her bare legs looked almost blue in the fading light.

“You came back,” she said.

I shut the door behind me and put the shopping down on the table. In the gloom it was hard to see her at all.

“Mummy, you came back.”

I went over to the fire and set the wood, and as I scrabbled around in the dark for the matches I could feel her come and sit by my side. The box was cold and damp and the first two matches would not light but the third match lit and with it I set the papers burning at the top of the stack I’d built. I watched the papers burn and the kindling beneath it catch alight and then the larger wood below and on down and down layer by layer until the whole pyramid was ablaze.

I turned away and looked back at the room. The snow had melted away, leaving a few pools of water across the floor. I was alone. I wiped my eyes clear and began to tidy the shopping away.

__________

Notes:

1. Yet another unpublished 2013 thing
2. I think I was probably feeling a little miserable back then

__________

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We stare up forever at the sky and do not avert our gaze

My mother’s grave had been shattered. A heart-sized hole had been smashed through the glass, and a rock, similarly sized, lay on the red velvet of her dress, sunk down slightly in the space below her ribs. The embalming fluid had evaporated away and the corpse was rotted down almost to the bone. The nameplate at the foot of her grave had been pried away and removed, leaving behind a residue of rust like tears running down the small stone it had been set in.

The other graves were all intact, a sea of serene souls staring up from their glass tombs at the uncaring skies. Even in death my mother had not been forgiven. Even in me some saw a continuation of her crimes, as if somehow it was my fault. As if somehow it was ever hers.

I reached in and retrieved the rock from her lap. The sharp edges of the glass scratched at my arm, drawing blood. A droplet caught on the glass, growing fat for a second before dripping down onto her dress. A trade, I suppose, for the rock.

I walked out into the vast field of glass, past my mother, into the deeper history of the town, an intricate family tree lined out forever in these tombs filled with un-aging flesh. I could trace my family roots back, as they spread out and out and out until eventually almost everyone was kin.

I wanted no part of it. This cold town was punishment enough. To be forced into infinity out here, it was an unbearable thought. Perhaps it was a mercy, what had been done to my mother, what had been done to innumerable others out here in this sickening parade, their names not just forgotten but forcibly erased.

***

Beyond the graves, at the cliff’s edge, she hurled the rock out into the ocean and wept new tears for her twice murdered mother.

__________

Notes:

1. Another unpublished thing from 2013

__________

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Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

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