Off-screen
The courtroom was very organic—every surface, every edge; even the characters were in strict compliance with Green 14000 Standard, rev. 2.0.2.6.
It was within a massive banana leaf at a mamak.
At a raised bench sat Banana Leaf the Magistrate, he was hollow—hollow eyes, hollow voice, hollow everything. Perhaps he had arrived in too much haste, leaving both soul and flesh behind.
In front of him, a small mound of coconut rice had taken on the role of Court Clerk, releasing soft sighs of coconut milk whenever a point of order was raised.
“Under the Cliffhanger Precedent, first recorded in A Pair of Blue Eyes (1873), §1, by Thomas Hardy,” the Magistrate rustled solemnly, “the accused is charged with Unlawful Evaporation—with Intent. To. Confound!!!”
“I coined the cliffhanger,” a voice muttered, “and this is how I am cited? At a mamak? With a leaf for a judge? Surrounded by peanuts and ikan bilis?”
The Magistrate did not look up.
“File a motion,” he said hollowly.
“But your Honour,” interrupted Ikan Bilis the Solicitor, his tiny pale-yellow body glistening—briny, pungent, a walking declaration of umami—
“My client, the Baby-turned-Chrysalis, did not evaporate. He is now in another state—an interphase of new form, pending approval under Andersen v. The Emperor’s New Clothes (1837), which established that a thing’s true nature is not fixed by proclamation, but by the collective wisdom of its witnesses.”
“Most importantly—he is a victim!” he snapped, his salty tail flicking for emphasis.
“The Cook must be arrested—immediately!”
“Silence!” declared the Magistrate. “Evidence must be served boiling hot—or it shall be dismissed as frozen tea, under Mamak Ordinance 4(a): ‘Tea That Cannot Be Pulled Cannot Testify.’”
Fried Peanut the Attorney rose bravely to his feet, only to sit back down with a loud crack.
“I—I object!” he stammered, his shell splintering under the strain. “The defence claims the butterfly—yes, a butterfly—is merely a curry-pea in disguise—an unreasonable attempt to smuggle imagination into this court as reality.”
Alice, standing in the witness box—a hollowed-out slice of cucumber—cleared her throat.
“If it please the court,” she said timidly, “I saw the chrysalis with my own eyes. It looked like a dried chili skin. The crime is not evaporation—it should be preservation.”
The Magistrate leaned forward, his green surface creasing thoughtfully.
“A spicy accusation. Clerk, consult the Sambal Precedent.”
The Rice Clerk released a considerable cloud of coconut-scented steam.
“The Precedent is inconclusive, M’Lord. The evidence has been diluted by a sudden influx of teh tarik into the lower chambers.”
“It was pull-prepared by the Cook,” the Clerk added. “Its aroma is already invading the proceedings, M’Lord.”
“Very well,” declared the Magistrate, trusting his instinct and beginning to fold himself around the proceedings.
“Since the baby cannot be found, and since a pivot point cannot be located under Peripeteia (335 BCE), §1, by Aristotle, the Court finds the witness guilty of Illegal Blinking—under Cliffhanger Precedent, §1, Subsection (b)”
“But that’s not fair!” cried Alice. “You cannot sentence the witness!”
“In this court,” the Magistrate replied hollowly flat, “the witness is the only intruder, and therefore the only one subject to a fine.”
“And what is the fine?” Alice asked.
“The Court hereby imposes a fine of one (1) long, deep breath. In default of payment, the witness shall undergo a Mandatory Pivot—rotating on her own axis clockwise—for exactly three minutes.”
Alice squinted. “A… mandatory pivot?”
And this, set a precedent in Wonderland.
The Magistrate rated the ruling a perfect fifteen out of ten. No one understood it better than he did—green, and utterly immovable.
From somewhere near the hearthrug, the Cheshire Cat stretched its grin to match the Magistrate’s rating—far beyond any cat’s reach.
“You’ve seen nothing yet. He’s going to resolve more, and more, and more—until every case was left unresolved.”
Alice considered the matter very carefully.
She had not blinked.
She was quite certain of that.
So she took a long, slow breath.
The courtroom adjourned itself at once.
The banana leaf unfolded flatly under the streetlight at the mamak.
The Rice Clerk settled back into a fragrant heap.
The Solicitor grew very quiet and salty.
And the Magistrate, having delivered judgment in less than twenty-four minutes—not hours, a triumph for his KPI—started to wrap everything neatly together.
He wrapped the Attorney, the Solicitor, and the Clerk at the same time.
As for the accused—a baby? a butterfly? a legume?—hopelessly trapped in a Precedent that could not decide what he ought to be.
If it confuses, yes it confuses.
And so it continues—
confusing itself.
Confusing you as well.
I am sorry.
I just cannot control this.
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Next Episode: What Will Be, Will Be
Any suspense that survives long enough automatically becomes a beginning.
A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.
This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.