Conviction. To be found guilty of a crime. Or, really anything that could be roughly considered a crime. But in this case, it was arson. Jackson had been burning down the courthouse every time he came to trial. It worked– which is why he kept returning. The charges were piling up, and at long last it came to an end when the criminal Jackson Vanzetti was tried at a courtroom made of snow.
The sun beat down that day, burning and bright and beautiful –Ironic, Jackson thought, as he stood in front of the tall oak doors of the courtroom. The trial, a war between the state and the individual. The case had ascended through all of the country courts– which of course were now piles of ash– and the governor had requested a special courthouse be constructed specifically for this purpose. His past success in burning down courthouses had stemmed from his childhood pastimes. Those pastimes had taught him how to destroy anything with fire, which was how the snow was currently burning down. The governor had, foolishly, written "snow" instead of "stone" in his commission.