(A/N We’re doing this play in drama, and I play Juror Number Eleven. Juror Number Nine, Colin, and I thought up of a parody where all of the jurors died. He then pretended to die onstage.

Our group captains weren’t pleased.)

Twelve Dead Men

We find ourselves with twelve jurors. They have just finished a trial, and it’s time to decided: did the boy kill his father?

We begin with a short bio of the characters.

Foreman: He is a small, petty man who is impressed with the authority he has and handles himself quite formally. He is not overly bright, but dogged.

Two: He is a meek, hesitant man who finds it difficult to maintain any opinions of his own. He is easily swayed and usually adopts the opinion of the last person to whom he has spoken.

Three: He is very strong, very forceful, extremely opinionated man within whom can be detected a streak of sadism. Also, he is a humorless man who is intolerant of opinions other than his own, and accustomed to forcing his wishes and views upon others.

Four: He seems to be a man of wealth and position, and a practiced speaker who presents himself well at all times. He seems to feel a little bit above the rest of the jurors. His only concern is with the facts in this case and he is appalled with the behavior of the others.

Five: He is a naïve, very frightened young man who takes his obligations in this case very seriously but who finds it difficult to speak up when his elders have the floor.

Six: He is an honest but dull-witted man who comes upon his decisions slowly and carefully. He is a man who finds it difficult to create positive opinions, but who must listen to and digest and acccept those opinions offered by others which appeal to him most.

Seven: He is a loud, flashy, glad-handed salesman type who has more important things to do than to sit on a jury. He is quick to show temper and equally quick to form opinions on things about which he know nothing. He is a bully, and of course, a coward.

Eight: He is a quit, thoughtful, gentle man—a man who sees all sides of every questions and constantly seeks the truth. He is a man of strength tempered with compassion. Above all, he is a man who wants justice to be done, and willfight to see that it is.

Nine: He is a mild, gentle old man, long since defeated by life, and now merely waiting t die. He recognizes himself for what he is, and mourns the days when it would have been possible to be courageous without shielding himself behind his many years.

Ten: His is an angry, bitter man—a man who antagonizes almost at sight. He is also a bigot who places no value on any human life save his own. Here is a man who has been nowhere and is going nowhere and knows it deep within him.

Eleven: he is refugee from Europe. He speaks with an accent and is ashamed, humble, almost subservient to the people around him. He will honestly seek justice because he has suffered through so much injustice.

Twelve: He is a lsick, bright advertising man who thinks of human beings in terms of percentages, graphs and polls, and has no real understanding of people. He is a superficial snob, but trying to be a good fellow.

And now we begin.

Seven walked in nervously, loudly chewing and cracking gum. He opened a few more sticks and offered the gum to everyone. No one took it.

“But I already opened it!” he whined.

“Then you eat it!” Three growled. Seven shrugged and popped the whole pack of gum into his mouth. He struggled to chew the large wad of gum. He quickly began to choke while everyone ignored him. Eventually, Seven flopped to the floor, dead.

“Hmm. It appears that Juror Number Seven is dead,” the foreman observed.

“So what?” Ten said. “Let’s just vote the kid guilty and go!”

“I’d like some water,” Nine wheezed. He hobbled over to the water cooler and got a drink. Some water spilled on the floor. When Nine threw away his cup and went to go back to his seat, he slipped on the water.

The old man flipped into the air and landed with a crack.

“It appears that Juror Number Nine has died as well,” Six remarked. Twelve fanned himself.

“It’s hot!” he whined.

“It’s not that bad. Or is it? Or is it not?” Two said. He began to panic and ran in circles around the room. Twelve moaned.

“I’m gonna die!” Seeing as everything thought the same thing, no one payed attention to Twelve. But when he slumped over from a heat stroke they did notice him.

“It appears that he was serious,” Eleven said in a heavy German accent. “I miss Germany!” He began to sob from homesickness until he had cried so much that he dehydrated himself. He slid off his chair and landed on the ground. Eleven had died, too.

“Yay!” Three said. “I didn’t like that foreigner! All right, let’s vote!”

Seven of the eight remaining jurors voted “guilty” while Eight voted “not guily.”

“Hey, what’s the big idea!” Ten screamed.

“I don’t think he’s guilty!” Eight protested.

“He stabbed his own father!” Three screamed.

“Look at the knife he used!” Four said. “The boy admitted buying a knife, and that it fell through a hold in his pocket. Then, they found the same knife stuck in the father. It was a very strange knife, we all agree. It was like, the only knife. The storekeeper who sold it to the boy said it was the only one he had.”

“Well, let’s see,” Eight said. Three turned purple.

“I HATE YOU!” he screamed. “The boy is guilty! ADMIT IT!”

Eight shook his head. “I won’t say anything until I’m sure.”

Three turned a dangerous shade of brown. Someone deep in his head, a vein exploded. Three slumped over the table and slid off. Everyone looked at him.

“Would you look at that?” Five said calmly kicking Three’s body.

Four, during all if this, had gone to the guard standing outside the door and requested to see the knife. He got the knife with a tag on it.

“Now, see here,” he said taking the knife forward. He stuck it into the table. “Has any of you gentlemen who are still alive seen a knife like this?”

“No,” everyone who had a pulse said.

“Look at this!” Eight said pulling a knife that looked just like the one stuck in the table out of his best. Unfortunately, he stabbed himself in the process. Blood pooled over the table as Eight writhed in agony. After a few seconds, his body went still and the jurors went on with their job.

At that point, Two looked around. Six men were dead. Six were alive.

“Those guys aren’t breathing,” he said. “But the rest of them are! Should I stop breating too?” Two began to have an inner battle. Breathe, or not to breather? Eventually, he decided not to breathe. He turned blue without breath and collasped on the table. Ten, sitting next to him, accidentally shoved his body off the table. Two landed on Eight and died.

Now, only five men were left.

Ten snorted. “This is what you get, these murder cases. Those slum kids are no-good!”

“I grew up in a slum,” Five said dangerously.

Ten quickly began to backpedal. Five stood up and wrenched the knife out of the table.

“MY MOTHER STABBED MY FATHER!” he screamed before plunging the knife into Ten. Five knew what he was doing, and stabbed Ten in the belly, then pulled the knife upwards, effectively killing him.

“I didn’t like him anyway,” Six said.

“Maybe we should vote again,” the foreman said. Everyone nodded and the five remaining men voted.

“Let’s see, four guilty, one not guilty. Well, this sucks!” the foreman said. Four was looking at the bloody bodies in front of him.

“This is really gross,” he said as a few of Ten’s organs spilled out of his chest. He clapped a hand to his mouth and Four leaned out the window to barf. Sadly, he leaned over too far and fell out the nineteen-story building.

“Duh,” Six said stupidly. “Is he guilty or not?”

Five snorted. “Does it matter? I hardly thing they’ll trust out decision after what’s happened here.

“What? They’re just taking naps,” Six said pointing to the sevearl bodies strewn about the room.

“God, your’e so stupid!” Five screamed. He threw the knife to the table and stuck his head in the water cooler until he had drowned himself. Six picked up the knife still coated in Ten’s blood.

“Ooh, pretty!” he said looked at it. He put it dangerously close to his eye. He accidentally stabbed his eye out. Blood poured down his face as he ran shrieking in pain. Six quickly bled to death.

The foreman looked around at the room full of bodies.

“We shall now vote. GUILTY!” The foreman went to the guard to tell him the guilty verdict. Unfortunately for the foreman, the guard was working for the kid on trial and smashed in his skull with his guard club.

The End!

(A/N I expect a lot of flames for this… Please don’t.)