Courtroom where the evidence is rain

I'm standing at the defense table, but there are no walls—just a ceiling of clouds. My client's hands are folded, and the judge is reading a transcript that dissolves into mist as she speaks. Every exhibit is a raindrop, and I keep trying to catch them before they hit the floor, but they always slip through my fingers. The bailiff says 'order' and the sound echoes like the last emptying of a room.