“Your honour, I plea innocent.” I insist, with folded hands and a straightened posture. I’m certain I can sway this jury, before the judge beats the stand. It doesn’t help that every time I glance down to my palms, they appear red-stained, I have yet to know why. The jury can’t see my blood stained hands, can they? Is that why my case is so helpless?

I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t. I wouldn’t harm anyone intentionally, no, no! I definitely wouldn’t! My brain is being wracked for answers, and it feels as if I’m missing something. “I was framed.” I come down with confidently, but my team isn’t as square shouldered as I am.

We haven’t been beat, not yet. I am not going to jail an innocent man.

—

“Did you, or did you not kill Daniel Rodriguez?” The opposite side asks, in a stand ahead of me, mocking me. My glare tightens down on them, and my snarl gives away my answer before I can speak: “He deserved it.” I say.

The opposite addresses me by a name I do not know, and I ignore them, until they call me it once more. “That is not my name!” My roar echoes, “My name is Samuel, and I murdered Daniel Rodriguez, so don’t credit this-Wilbur-on behalf of my doings!” I confess in full, allowing anger to consume me.

At this point I don’t care about slithering my way out of this one. It was expected when I watched the life leave Daniel’s eyes. He would not be forgiven for what he’d done to me, not even in the afterlife. Jail seemed like a blessed escape from the world I lived in anyway, who was I to fight the odds?

—

“Alright, Samuel, so you confess?” What? Who is this Samuel? My positions changed and it was as if I’d been stuck in a whir, but now I am standing opposite of my opposing team. “Samuel? My name is Wilbur, your honour-clearly it is Samuel who has done this! Please your honour, I have not committed any act of violence and I do not intend to!” I plead, looking from the lawyer to the judge, and then back to the lawyer with desperate eyes.

The opposing lawyers eyes are vengeful, and my heart is beating fast. How could they not believe me, I didn’t do this! I’d never hurt anyone, I don’t even know a ‘Daniel’. The defying evidence presented is baffling, and I feel the world weighing down on my shoulders. The image of Daniel Rodriguez’s body before me makes me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t have done this.

“Your honour..” My lawyer booms from behind me, startling me and planting me to the ground. My head is pounding and my hands are red, blood red. “We would like to be granted the insanity plea.” My lawyer interjects, standing straight and confident.

Insanity plea? I don’t need that, why would I need that? I’m not insane. I wipe my hands against pants, and my vision begins to blur. I feel my lip quivering, before I know it I begin to cry.

The judge motions my lawyer to continue, and he does: “As we have been discussing, my client has recently been diagnosed with a multiple personality disorder. It truly isn’t Wilbur’s fault for committing this crime. More obviously, it does appear to be Samuel’s, a person-or personality-in which Wilbur has no control over.” My lawyer states, and my heart drops. When was I diagnosed with a disorder? I’d surly remember.

There’s another person inside of my head? Why yes, of course there is, that is why the shouting in my head never ceases. But then again, what if it’s my conscience, everybody has a conscience! “I killed Daniel, I did!” A voice erupts from within me absentmindedly. And in a snap I regain control, frightened.

So, Samuel is the one who has stained these hands. And I am the one stuck with the consequences.

Before I know it, the jury has come to a conclusion and the judge is confident with the answer. I’m standing upright but I feel as if I’m on a ship at sea, painfully holding myself upright to stay in place.

“Wilbur Kempt is granted the insanity plea.” The judge states firmly, before slamming the small mallet onto the stand. The banging taunts me in an echo within my mind, and that single sentence has my world in shambles.