The Trial

Scene: Midnight, Whiskey, and Kafka – Jessica and Sam Discuss The Trial

The night stretched long and quiet, the distant hum of the ocean rolling in steady waves. A single candle flickered on the table between them, casting shadows across the wood. Jessica sat back in her chair, whiskey glass balanced loosely in her fingers, while Sam leaned against the railing, the book resting beside him. The Trial.

Jessica smirked. “Alright, hit me with it. What’s your verdict?”

Sam took a slow sip of whiskey. “It’s a nightmare. But a slow one.”

Jessica exhaled a quiet laugh. “Kafka’s specialty.” She took a sip, then set the glass down. “A man wakes up one morning and finds himself accused of a crime he doesn’t understand. He spends the whole book fighting a system he can’t even see, let alone beat. And then, when the execution finally comes…” She smirked bitterly. “He accepts it.”

Sam nodded. “Like it was always going to happen.”

Jessica studied him. “You think it was?”

Sam shrugged. “Depends. You think he was guilty?”

Jessica exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “That’s the wrong question.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

Jessica tapped her fingers against her knee. “The whole point of the book is that it doesn’t matter. Whether he’s guilty or not, the system is going to grind him down anyway. It’s designed to keep him powerless.”

Sam nodded slowly. “And you think that’s you?”

Jessica huffed, picking up her whiskey. “Oh, I know it is.” She took a slow sip. “How many times have I thought I was one step ahead, only to realize I was just playing into someone else’s game?”

Sam leaned forward. “But you’re not K.”

Jessica smirked, but there was no humor in it. “No?”

Sam shook his head. “He never fought back, not really. He argued. He struggled. But he never broke the system. He let it consume him.” He tilted his head. “That’s not you.”

Jessica studied him, expression unreadable.

Sam took another sip of whiskey, then set the glass down. “K. spent the whole book trying to understand what was happening to him. You?” He smirked slightly. “You burn the damn book before it finishes writing itself.”

Jessica chuckled softly. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

Jessica glanced at the book on the table, then leaned back in her chair. “So what do you think Kafka was trying to say?”

Sam thought for a moment. “That the system is always bigger than you. That trying to beat it by playing its rules is a trap. And that in the end…” He glanced at her. “No one’s coming to save you.”

Jessica exhaled slowly. “Cheerful.”

Sam smirked. “You like that kind of thing.”

Jessica rolled her glass between her fingers. “Maybe.” A pause. “But maybe Kafka was wrong about one thing.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Jessica tilted her head, studying the whiskey in the candlelight. “K. never had anyone, not really. He was alone. That’s what made it so easy for them to break him.” She glanced at Sam. “I’m not alone.”

Sam held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “No, you’re not.”

Jessica took another slow sip of whiskey. “So maybe I don’t end up like him.”

Sam smirked. “No, Jess. I don’t think you do.”

Jessica smirked back, clinking her glass against his.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was on trial anymore.