[ WP ] Murder victims can now be brought back to life temporarily for 24 hours to testify in court . You 've now been falsely accused by the dead person whom you 've hated

I could n't believe it when I heard the news. My roommate was dead! I hate to say it, but it was an answered prayer for me. He was such an ass. It was n't just that he would leave his empty soda cans lying everywhere, the table, the floor, even the sink for some reason, or the crumbs that he left sprayed over the ground. It was n't his whining, nasal voice. No. It was his smug, self-centered attitude. Nothing was ever his fault. The mess was always `` someone else.'' Any conversation, on any topic, and magically he became an expert. And god forbid if you dared to disagree. He'd go on and on in that whining drone of his, not shutting up until you just gave up and let him keep his stupid, self-absorbed opinions. 
 
 God, I hate him so, so much. And, unlike my other roommates I was stupid enough to engage. To call him out on his self-pity fest when he bitched and moaned about how horrible we all were, about how much respect he deserved, slaving away cleaning up after us. That was when I snapped. 
 
 We had words, and he left, presumably to find one of his idiot friends to complain about me. I did n't care. For once there was peace and quiet. We started to wonder after he had n't returned by the next day. But honestly, we just did not care enough to try and figure out where he was. 
 
 That is, until the police came. They told us the news. He had been found dead in an alleyway near our house, a bullet in his head. Someone had clumsily tried to make it look like suicide, but there were other fingerprints on the gun, and it was in his right hand although normally he used his left. 
 
 I did n't care. He was out of our lives. Thank god. Unfortunately for me, I had made no secret of how much I had hated him, and the police politely asked me to accompany them to the station. I did n't blame them. I was naturally the first suspect. My other roommates would back me up. I would be fine. 
 
 I may have, hah, jumped the gun on that one. Once in the station, they took my fingerprints and a DNA sample. While I waited in the dingy, poorly lit interview room, they compared the fingerprints to those they had found on the gun. They were a perfect match. 
 
 After they had read me my rights, my lawyer came to speak with me. `` Son,'' he said, after polishing his glasses on his too shiny suit, `` I'm not going to lie to you. It looks bad. Maybe it'd be better if you just confessed. Crime of passion, you were in a heated argument, you followed him, got into another argument. He pulled out the gun, you two struggled, he got shot. You panicked, put the gun in his hand and ran. Tell that to a judge, and with any luck you'll only have to do a few years. Hell, keep your nose clean and you'll get out even sooner.'' 
 
 `` No.'' My voice was a hoarse whisper. After they had charged me, I had screamed obscenities and curses at the policemen. I felt bad about that now. They were just doing their jobs. I took a swig of water, and said it again. `` No. I did n't kill him. I'm innocent, and I want to prove it.'' The lawyer shook his head and sighed. 
 
 `` Alright. But you know what that means, right?'' 
 
 My skin crawled. `` Reanimation.'' We could bring back the dead, to testify at their trials. The did n't last long, the technology was imperfect, but the verdict often hinged on their testimony. After all, who would know the murderer better than the victim? 
 
 `` That's right. Reanimation. And son, if you're telling the truth-'' 
 
 `` I am.'' 
 
 `` Whatever. It does n't matter. If you're telling the truth, that does n't mean he'll see it that way. A brief struggle in the dark, he did n't see the other guy's face... Well, twenty four hours is n't a lot of time on this Earth, and the dead want vengeance. If he ca n't say who did it, he might blame you outta spite. After all, he left because of your argument.'' 
 
 That sounded exactly like something he would do. But what choice did I have? 
 
 The trial day came, and I dressed in my Sunday finest. I sat there in the courtroom as the technicians set up the chair. Wires looped around the arms and legs, and an electrical crown hung above it. That was what they were going to use to shock the brain back into working. Once the technicians were done, the morticians wheeled out the corpse. 
 
 He had n't been a looker, and death was no improvement. Suspended as he was in the reanimation fluid, his face had a sickly pallor and his eyes were cloudy and dim. They heaved the body out, death apparently had not made him any less heavy, and squeezed him into the chair. Electrodes were attached, and then they began the process. 
 
 At first, nothing seemed to happen. It just sat there as they gave ever increasing shocks. But then, slowly, it began to twitch. A hand jerked from side to side. His head lolled sickeningly on its neck. His eyelids began to flutter. And then... then he woke up. 
 
 For a corpse, he seemed surprisingly aware. He smacked his lips a few times and looked around the courtroom with more curiosity than surprise. The judge turned to him. `` Do you know where you are?'' 
 
 He smiled, his teeth brown and loose in his mouth. `` Yesh, your honor.'' Death had thickened and slurred his voice, but it still had that whinging, nasally quality. 
 
 `` Very well. We will now hear your testimony on your murderer. But first, can you see him in this room?'' They dead man slowly twisted his neck, scanning the room. It stopped abruptly when he saw me. 
 
 `` Yesh.'' That little, cocksucking bastard. I already knew how this was going to go. 
 
 `` Very well. Describe the events leading up to your murder.'' 
 
 `` It wash in the evening. I had argued with my roommate.'' He waved a sickly, mottled hand in my direction. `` He wash always complaining. I did all the work around the apartment, and did he ever thank me? Nooo, it was always my fault somehow. Anyway, I left to go on a walk. Let him clear hish head, sho he could apologi' for the way he treated me.'' 
 
 The judge began nodding sympathetically. Shit. 
 
 `` Anyway, I wash shtrolling along, when shuddenly I heard footshteps behind me. I turned around, and there he wash, holding a gun. I begged him not to do it but he laughed. He shaid that he had shpent months turning the other roommates against me, leaving garbage lying around and blaming it on me, undercutting me whenever I gave advice. He laughed and shaid that no one would care that I had died. Then he shot me.'' 
 
 I heard gasps and muffled conversation in the court behind me. I caught the word monster, and clenched my fists. Even from beyond the grave, this man was such a bastard. 
 
 `` Why would he do all this?'' The judge asked, pity dripping from every word. 
 
 `` He musht be cra'y, your honor. I ca n't think of another reashon. I always treated him nicely.'' 
 
 He looked me dead in the eyes then, and winked. That was when I knew. The little piece of shit in front of me had set up the whole thing. It was a suicide. I do n't know how he got the fingerprints on the gun, but at this point it did n't really matter, did it? He was smarter than I had realized. I was going down. 
 
 The knowledge calmed me, oddly enough. There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could say. Well, except for one thing. 
 
 I stood up. `` Your honor, if I could testify?'' 
 
 The judge looked at me with venom in his eyes, and then turned to the corpse in the witness stand. `` Have you finished your testimony?'' 
 
 `` I have, your honor.'' 
 
 The judge waved a languid hand. `` Very well, testify if you must.'' My roommate's body stood up, and started lurching towards the chair they had so thoughtfully put out for him, and the prosecutions table. As I walked towards the witness stand, he seemed to stumble, and fell towards me. As He passed by me, he muttered `` gotcha.'' I smiled, widely and, halted my slow stride towards the witness stand. I knew that he would n't resist the chance to gloat. And now? Now he was in arms reach. 
 
 I kicked his kneecap. The dead can still feel pain. As he screamed and fell, I lept on top of him, hitting and hitting, pulverizing that smug, arrogant bastard's face. By the time they dragged me off of him, there was nothing left but fragments of bone and rotten meat. I laughed as the pulled me out of the courtroom and into the waiting police car. 
 
 After all, if I was going down for his murder, should n't I at least have the satisfaction of killing him? 
 
 EDIT: Grammar, spelling
