The Ballad of Builder Bill

Each member of the court, judge, lawyer, and juror sat in their seat, feeling an odd heat coming off of one Ms. Sneat. She set a glare at Mr. O'Nare, the man who hadn't a care, fiddling with his hair despite the heavy air. They were there because Ms. Sneat had sued Mr. O'Nare, the multi-millionaire.

He was the owner of O'Nare and Sneat, an architectural agency with quite a rich history. Founded during the eighties by Nathaniel "Socrates" O'Nare and Bill Sneat, no other firm had ever beat or could even compete with O'Nare and Sneat. But what was once sweet has turned bitter due to one nasty winter.

Nathaniel O'Nare had cought a fever, leaving him stuck in a chair and his son, a deceiver, partly in charge of O'Nare and Sneat. Bill Sneat could not stand the new O'Nare, the undeserving-multi-millionaire. The young O'Nare dared to make changes to Bill Sneat's sheets, the blueprints to multiple buildings of Bill's without chance for contraire.

"The old O'Nare wouldn't have dared," Bill had said to a trusted builder. "Nathaniel knows not to be in denial at another man's greater style of artistry. This O'Nare is a bumbling pile of nice hair." And the squabbling didn't stop there, with Bill and O'Nare fighting and arguing over every square found on Sneat's sheets.

Eventually, after twelve weeks, Bill Sneat shot himself in front of O'Nare, the details a nightmare. The older O'Nare died soon after, making his son the permanent master of all he'd ever asked for. Ms. Sneat, however, got nothing from her father's life-endeavor, just one letter: "Be better." She understood what her father had tried to tell her, now facing this court and the O'Nare traitor.

"Your Honor," O'Nare's lawyer began. "My client, Mr. O'Nare, never compelled or even dared Bill Sneat into complete and true suicide. Had he just seen things from his side, he wouldn't have died." Feeling satisfied, he laid down on his side, not even trying to hide his grin at this easy win. But then, Ms. Sneat stepped in.

"Your Honor," Ms. Sneat pitched in. "My father was a creator. A man of which there was no greater. When he saw common rock and metal, something special nestled into his mind. An idea for what he could build, for what he could provide to all the ungrateful hides of humanity. To do and be not for somebody else, but for himself and his spirit's health: the truest of wealth. To deny a creator, a Sneat, his purpose is to deny him his life, one that not even a wife or companion should have hold over. So for Mr. O'Nare to dare such a thing..." She resumed her glare.

The judge tried to speak, but it took a beat. "Is there anything you'd like to add, Mr. O'Nare?" 

"Sure, if Ms. Sneat's prepared."

"Prepared, Mr. O'Nare?"

O'Nare ignored the intensifying glare and spoke honest and bare. "I don't care about spirit or whatever else Bill Sneat's sheets represent. I want to have money and maybe even be president, and that takes setting a precedent towards service. I serve in an unreserved manner, one that includes any and every person who wishes me to serve. And if I am asked to change sheets, then the Sneats of the world will just have to accept that plain and purely for the wants of the majority." O'Nare's lawyer gave him a pat on the back, thinking that the trial was on track. Though Ms. Sneat had one more attack.

"Your Honor," she spoke with vigor. "Nathaniel O'Nare never dared to change my father's sheets. Why do you think he cared for what Sneats create and never wished to have his spirit impaired?"

"I suppose old O'Nare had some Sneat in him, somewhere."

"No. Nathaniel O'Nare was purely an O'Nare, yet had a care for what O'Nares should never impair or impeach."

"So then why did he care?"

"Because a good O'Nare would understand that to make a stand against a Sneat and their sheets is to make a stand against the best service a man of sound mind and spirit can provide: the service of invention and creation. Look at all the great Sneats of the past: Benjamin Franklin, Isaac Newton, Thomas Edison. They all did more for humanity than any one O'Nare like the one in front of me has ever done. And it was by being true to their inner creator; their inner Sneat that made everything around them neat. The place of the world's O'Nares isn't to shackle Sneats, it is to care enough to always enable and empower them to do great things. That is where Nathaniel O'Nare got his nickname from. He was the "Socrates" of his time; the man who let the Sneats rhyme and climb with their inner gifts due to his incredible wits and wisdom. If this court lets that O'Nare there get away with killing a Sneat's spirit, then the world will have no one to get the job done; to create and innovate, to make great."

"...Has the jury come to a conclusion?"

What is your decision? What do you believe in?