Kayla Sy, class of 2028
“You’re sure about this?” the policeman asked gruffly. He fiddled with the cold metal handcuffs, idly tossing them from hand to hand. He kept glancing at his watch, impatient to finish up work and go home. As if dinner would be the most significant part of his day, rather than making a decision that would change a human life forever.
The detective matched his apathy. “Positive,” she answered, her leveled tone conveying no hint of emotion whatsoever. She, too, was tapping her foot in a manner that almost screamed, Let’s get this over with already.
It appeared that the only person in the scene who was feeling anything besides indifference was the culprit himself. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a muscular build–the quintessential depiction of a strong criminal capable of murder.
He was also sobbing his heart out.
Shameless tears ran down his cheeks, spilling over his beard and onto the cracked cement of the sidewalk. His shallow breaths stuttered out in a cacophony of ragged sobs and hysteric sniffles. He was curled up in the fetal position, rocking himself back and forth like a child.
The policeman texted his wife that he might be late to dinner.
“Please,” the murderer begged, though the word was lost amidst the fit of coughs that followed. “Please,” he croaked, barely audible enough for the detective to hear. “I didn’t….”
“There is an overwhelming amount of evidence to suggest otherwise,” the detective replied flatly. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line; her gray eyes were filled with emptiness; her neutral expression betrayed no hint of humanity.
The policeman knelt down beside the murderer and helped him off the floor, making as if to give him some final words of peace and comfort.
Instead, he leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Shut up, you pathetic piece of absolute filth. You should’ve considered the consequence of capital punishment before you murdered that innocent victim.”
The murderer went deadly silent. The policeman handcuffed him.
As he was being shoved into the back of the shiny white police car, the murderer cast back a despairing glance one final time, towards the detective.
Just as he was turning away, he caught something unmistakable flit across her face–miniscule, yet imperative, his life hanging by a thread upon it:
A flicker of doubt.
But she said nothing.
Something broke deep inside the victim’s soul as the car door slammed shut with torturous finality.
She was the real murderer.
I was inspired by Atticus Finch's mini-speech in the novel To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee regarding ambiguity with the death penalty. He proclaims, "'The law says 'reasonable doubt,' but I think a defendant's entitled to the shadow of a doubt'" (Lee 251). I found his (and Harper Lee's) stance to be intriguing and thought-provoking, and I intentionally wrote the ending to reflect the same ambiguity. To be honest, the first thing that popped into my mind when I read the theme was the Roblox game. The second thing I imagined was various light sources, from a candle to a lightbulb. I wanted to portray a different type of flicker that wasn't related to light but could still be seen just as clearly. I hope that readers recognize that all too often, we are the apathetic detective.