I’m standing in a courtroom that doesn’t exist

It’s not empty—there are benches, a judge’s chair with no one in it, and a witness stand where the name tags are all blank. I’m holding a file that says 'Case Closed' but the pages are still wet. The air smells like old paper and something faintly like rain on pavement. No one speaks. I keep opening the file to check if anything changed. Nothing did. When I close it, the cover reads my name instead of the client’s. Then the room starts to hum, just below hearing, like a refrigerator left on too long. I don’t know why I’m here. I only know I’ve been waiting for someone to say something. But the