guilty
Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time; a look into all aspects of a guilty verdict from the burden of proof to conviction to the judge’s sentence and more.
The Farm
Sara and I have known each other since grade school. She mostly stayed to herself, but seemed to get along with most people. She loved reading and writing but what I remember most is, her kindness, compassion and perseverance. For as long as I can remember, she tried her best to be fair and just. I lost contact with her when she changed to a different school in 7th grade.
By Patricia Hammond5 years ago in Criminal
An Honest Day's Labor
The May day on which I boarded the train was fresh and brilliant, in that way that only the English countryside can be. The sooty air and close streets of London had quickly slid past the windows of the train, giving way to rolling green hills and pastures filled with shaggy sheep, some apple trees still in bloom. Sadly, my mood could not match the beauty of the day. I glanced down at my hands in their black lace gloves, neatly folded in my lap. I would soon doff the clothes of mourning for my husband only to don the denim dress and work apron of a factory girl. The road ahead looked bleak. I tried to focus on the scenery outside.
By Shannon Callan5 years ago in Criminal
Paths
It was nearing the end of another minute, another hour, another day and another week tracing undeniably bland paths through monotonous doldrums, without purpose. Trying to impress, but feeling rather empty. Reaching for something, yet left lonely. Last call had already happened. A night had been lost to vain attempts to infuse novelty into the corners of a city strewn with old brick walls and gutters of refuse left unswept. It was drizzling slightly. In the small puddles the capillary waves of the gentle raindrops scintillated in the rays of warm yellow street light diffracted through the faint mist. Walking the alleys on the way to retreat to a familiar place to sleep, colored disco lights could be seen in a room several stories above, with an iconic saxophone solo fading away into lyrics whispering to me as I walked away; “Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie.” Staring at the ground a small black book suddenly presented itself before my feet. It looked rather freshly arrived. Not particularly dirty and not particularly wet. So conspicuous and dapper why not open it? The first few pages had an odd little ledger of some sort of address followed by a number and what was probably an alias.
By Vocal Glasses5 years ago in Criminal
Herstory is Our Story
Alright, now breathe! In and out. In and out. My anxiety hasn’t gotten the better of me since law school, but I knew it would be back with a vengeance today. The incident in school lead to a midnight trip to the emergency room where an RN told me I was fine and just low on potassium. She sent me home with a banana and a large bill, but that is a story for a different day. Luckily, I invested in therapy and learned a couple tricks to come back to reality. The anticipation of today alone is shaking my heart and fogging up my lungs. Breathe in, breathe out, A – Anteaters, B-Bingo, C-Cantaloupe, D-Dynamite… I’m here, back in the court room.
By Katie Bolger5 years ago in Criminal
Off Trail
There were signs that told hikers not to wander off of the trails, but Carly was not a hiker, she was an art student. More specifically, she was an art student with a landscape sketchbook assignment due the next day. She had no desire to sketch the same few landscapes that her classmates would be finding on the trails in the state park near campus. How predictable, and how bored Professor Stanz would be. So, she dipped her hiking boots into the detritus on the lip of where the trail met the forest floor and tried not to trip over hidden tree roots as she waded deeper into the woods.
By Sophia Jurgens5 years ago in Criminal
Harvard University’s Trademark Battle with a Philippine Clothing Manufacturer
Who doesn’t know Harvard University? Personally, I admire anyone who graduated from Harvard. I look up to them as having extraordinary intelligence. When I hear “Harvard”, only two descriptions come to my mind: prestige and excellence. And when I hear Harvard, I associate it Harvard University.
By Olivia Marlene5 years ago in Criminal
The Will to Live
David clutched the wheel with his left hand, his right gripping the gear shift. It was a foggy morning, and the clouds seemed to stretch down from the heavens all the way to the earth, creating a sheer curtain of moisture that penetrated the city. His ears yearning for a noise to drown out the honking horns and revving engines around him, he released the clutch for a moment and flipped on the radio to the local news station. As his fingers, frigid from the frost outside, turned up the dial, the dynamic voice of the local weatherman crackled through the speakers. David listened passively, nudging a lever to awaken his turn signal and merging onto the toll road he always took to work, leaving behind the soaring metal giants of downtown. He edged the pedal further, and the car was soon shooting down the highway with a steady hum. Having three miles to traverse in this lane, David released the gear shift and ran his right hand through his graying but abundant hair. His ears perked up at every tick of his wristwatch, and his jaw clenched with every glance he snuck at it, trying to keep his eyes devoted to the traffic as long as possible. He had consistently been late to work for the last couple of weeks, and his boss had warned him of the consequences that would inevitably follow if he didn’t get his schedule together. David wasn’t only stressed about being late to work. Every time he closed his eyes to blink, the film of the past months seemed to continue rolling through his head on repeat, the back of his eyelids acting as the screen. He let out a weary sigh and flipped on his blinker again, changing lanes toward the exit on the right. As his car sped down the ramp and slowed to rejoin the flow of traffic under the soaring skyscrapers, David turned his head to check his blindspot. A flash of gray blurred by in his periphery, a blink of red flashed brightly, and a sudden pounding emerged in his ears as the blood rushed to his head. His seatbelt sliced to the bone as he lurched forward, banging his head on the steering wheel, and soon the pounding in his ears was accompanied by a sharp hot ache behind his eyes. His stomach dropped into his legs as though he were free falling for a moment. There was a deafening ringing in his ears, and the last thing David saw was a male figure donned in a suit approaching hurriedly, before his eyelids became leaden and everything went dark.
By Maitri Kovuru5 years ago in Criminal
Eyes On You
I stood next to Pop-Pop in the glow of the sunset coming through the hospital window. He was tensely quiet, as per usual. I always thought there was something off about Pop-Pop. It was never enough to set off a real alarm in my head, just that he was a little colder than most people, a little more hardened and on the edge. Dad always chalked it up to a product of growing up in the olden days, where things were more about survival and less about “technology and instant gratification”. Pop-Pop never spoke much to my mother, as he didn’t speak much to anyone from my experience. Whenever I asked why Pop-Pop was so quiet, my mother shrugged her shoulders, dismissed it, and told me that it was rude to be so nosy.
By Auva Creations5 years ago in Criminal
