Monday, April 28, 2014

The Complexity of Math. Or the Conclusion of Jon

The story is he didn't do it.  The cyanide not withstanding, he always maintained his innocence.

His girlfriend, the little girl's mother, stood by his side. Whatever the facts were, at least those presented to the jury, weren't sufficient to save him. On the account of not being there, I have a lot of unknown variables.

Certainly there must be some value in a mother standing with the accused, calling her own daughter a liar. But we know for certain that instances exist where a parent will side with a lover even at the detriment of their children. Is she such a parent? I don't know her. Never set eyes on her. Never heard a story about her other than this one.

From the darker parts of the Internet he did a little research, and God knows how exactly, he managed to put together a small pill and snuck it into his sentencing. He walked in knowing that what he would hear that day was not the difference between freedom and prison but life and death.

As the words dropped, as the verdict was read, the guard reported he saw Jon slip something in his mouth.

Half hour later leaving the courtroom he falls to the ground. Soon he's in a coma. His vital organs shut down. He's put on machines to drag his life out, but a few days later his soul goes off to where ever it goes.

Was he innocent?

Somewhere there is a little girl who can answer that question. Should I feel some relief in his possible innocence?

Her mom says she made the story up because Jon and her wouldn't let the girl date a 21 year old guy (when she was thirteen).

Before me sits two plates. One crawling with spider. The other filled with scorpions. One of which I must eat. Somewhere out there is a little girl who was molested by her mother's boy friend and abandoned by her mother. Somewhere out there is a little girl who invented a lie so dark and terrible it sent a man to the deepest despair. Somewhere out there is a little girl with a heart already filled with a life's worth of pain and sadness. Somewhere out there is a dead man. Somewhere out there is a whole network of people eating plates of poisonous insects.

Does his innocence even matter now? Is the math worth the effort? Or should we just eat?