Chapter 1
Weo-Weo-Weo!
The sirens were piercing the air! Seven patrol cars came zooming down the dirt
road, and came to a screeching halt in front of a small cottage. Two cops
jumped out of each car and surrounded the house. Half of them drew their guns
and entered the cottage by breaking down the door. Ten minutes passed. Twenty
minutes passed. Forty minutes passed. Finally, after two hours, four of the
policemen come out dragging a teen, about 16 or 17, and garbage bags upon
garbage bags of drugs, nicotine, cocaine, boxes of cigarettes and cases of
whiskey. Following them, the others came out with their guns pointed at the
young adult. The teenager is shoved into a patrol car, which speeds off. The
rest then follow suit.
Chapter 2
“Order in the court! Order in the court!” the Judge
cried, while banging his gravel. “This court will now come to order! Will the
accused please rise?”
A teenager named Josh Santriso slowly stands up.
“Are
you, or are you not Josh Santriso?” the Judge asked.
“I
am, your Honor.” The young boy replied.
“And
did you, or did you not have drugs and alcohol in your possession?”
“Yes,
your Honor. But-”
“I
did not ask for any further information.” The Judge replied. “You will answer what
you have been asked and only that. Do you understand?”
“Yes,
your Honor.” The boy answered meekly.
“Good!
Now, back to where we were. You admit to having drugs and alcohol in your
possession. Now, how old are you?”
“Sixteen,
your Honor.”
“Sixteen.
Wow! To young to smoke, yet you had packs of cigarettes; to young to drink, yet
you had cases of whisky; and definitely to young to use drugs! Wow! Wow-whee!
So, how do you plead: Innocent or Guilty?”
“Innocent.”
The boy replied. “Your Honor.” He quickly added.
“Innocent?! Why, I’m surprised! All the
evidence proves you guilty, and yet you plead innocent. That takes a lot of guts.”
“May
I speak, your Honor?”
“You
don’t have much hope, but go on.”
“Thank
you. Honorable Judge, Men of the Jury, and all those present. Do you want to
see an innocent man rot in jail, for a crime that he did not commit?”
“What
on earth are you saying?! If it wasn’t you, then, just, who was it?”
“Your
Honor, I work in a McDonald’s and I have a ‘competitor’, who works in a Taco
Bell, by the name of George Shaproe. This past year, I had a lot more costumers
than him. So, naturally, George was mad. He vowed to get me back. Don’t you
think that these objects were planted on me, so that my ‘competitor’ can get
rid of me?”
“How
many times did you rehearse that? Don’t answer me! It doesn’t matter! All in
all, it’s a very far-fetched story. But it’s not up to me.” Turning to the Jury, he exclaimed: “Men
of the Jury, you know the facts. You saw the evidence. You heard Mr. Santriso’s
story. Now it’s up to you to see if he is innocent, and should be let free, or
if he is guilty, and if so he’ll be sentenced to twenty-five years in prison.
You are dismissed.”
The
Jury takes leave of the courtroom.
Chapter 3
“Mr.
Foreman?” the guard said.
“Yes?”
he replied.
“If
you need anything just knock on the door.”
“Thank
you, I appreciate it.”
The
door closes and the click of the lock is heard.
The
Foreman asked for attention.
“We
were lucky not to get a case of life and death. But, that does not mean that we
could take this case lightly. I think that we should start off with a silent
vote.”
The
Foreman then ripped up a large piece of paper into twelve pieces and handed it
out to the Jurors.
“Please
write your vote on the piece of paper, and pass it back up to me.
A
couple minutes pass, with only the sound of pen on paper heard.
“Alright!
Is that all of them?”
“Yep!
I believe so,” said Juror# 7
“Good!
Now, let’s see: Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Innocent!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“Guilty!”
“And…
Guilty!”
“Ok!
It’s 9 to 3 – Guilty! What should we do now?”
Juror
#11 spoke up. “I think that we should see why those that claimed innocent did
so. But it’s just a thought,” he trailed off.
“I
think,” said the Foreman, “that it’s a great idea! If nobody minds, all those
that claim innocent, please raise your hand.”
Jurors
#3, 8 and 12 slowly raised their hands.
The
Foreman called on Juror #3. “Why do you say innocent?”
“Well,
I for one believe his story.”
“Now, what is this?!” yelled
Juror #5. “We went into his **** story enough! He works in no McDonald’s! In
fact, he doesn’t even work at all! Plus, there is no such person as George
Shaproe. What kind of name is ‘Shaproe’ anyways?” he said with a sneer.
“Sorry
mister.” Juror #3 replied.
Juror
#12 put down his hand. “I had the same reason,” he said.
“Well,”
said the Foreman. “Now it’s 11 to 1 – Guilty. So Juror #8, why do you say
innocent?”
“Aw!
Gee! I-I-I don’t really know. I mean, my conscience just doesn’t let me say
guilty, and have a kid sit in a dark, dingy cell for 25 years.”
“But
he told a stupid story under oath!” yelled Juror #2.
“I-I
know, I know. But lying under oath is only five years, not twenty-five.”
“Oh!
Shut it about you and your stupid conscience!” juror #2 started yelling.
“Knowing you, you probably would let a murderer get off free, because you don’t
want to make him go to the ‘Electric Chair’!” he sneered at him.
Then
#7 got up. “What are you doing, you animal? He’s entitled to his rights as an
American; and as part of this jury, he can claim innocent or guilty without
being ashamed for it!”
Juror
#2 sat down, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he grunted.
“Good!”
said Juror #7. “Now, Juror #8, he does have a point. He’s guilty, all the way,
and you know it.”
“Yah…. I know. You’re right. I
claim guilty.”
“Alright!”
said the Foreman. He knocked on the door.
“Yes?”
said the guard.
“We
have reached a verdict.”
The
Jury files into the courtroom.
The
Judge bangs his gravel for attention. “The Jury has come to verdict. Mr.
Foreman, if you please?”
“The Jury proclaims the accused
guilty, of all charges, your Honor.”
“It’s
settled then!” the Judge said. “I herby sentence the accused, Mr. Josh
Santriso, to twenty-five years in prison! Case dismissed!” He bangs his gravel
twice.
All
those present, file out of the courtroom. Josh Santriso is lead away,
handcuffed.
Chapter 4
It’s
1:37 am, on Wednesday, December 7th, 1993. All is quiet. Everyone is
fast asleep. All that is, except for one person. A person in a dark, dingy
cell, shared with the mice and the rats. A cell with only a small barred up
window, a hard wooden bench to sleep on and a small doggy-door, where his daily
ration of bread, soup, water, chicken and cheese come in. that person is none
other than, our infamous Josh Santriso.
Seventeen
years have passed. The 16 year old Josh we once knew, is now a 33 year old man.
He wasn’t skinny, but he wasn’t fat either. He, of course, wasn’t married. In
only 8 years he would be free. He’s been thinking about life, and he decided,
that when he gets out, he’s going to get a real job. He’s going to earn enough
money to support himself for many years to come.
But
will he ever get out? Eight years is like an eternity. Sure, people come to
visit, and sure, it’s not so bad, but it’s eight years! Maybe, he thought, that
since he was good, he can bail himself out. But alas! No! He was to be in jail
eight more dreadful years.
Chapter 5
8 years later…
Josh was in a very happy mood. He was
getting out any day now! He was now 41 years old. He was getting some gray
hairs already. Five days pass. Ten days pass. When was he getting out already?!
After a month and a half, there’s a knock on his cell door.
The
guard opens the door, and leaves it wide open. “You’re free!” he said. “You can
go home!” Finally! The day he was waiting for, waiting over twenty-five years
for, has come. He was free! He was going home today!
He
quickly packed the few belongings he had, and walked out of the jail cell. He walked
out into the courtyard, and for the first time in over twenty-five years… he
passed the jail gates! Freedom! What everybody dreams about! How good it is to
be free! How he won’t take advantage of something like freedom again!
Epilogue
25 years later…
Josh
Santriso, a man of 66, now lives with his wife and five children in Los
Angeles, California. He owns a pretty successful business. I am glad to say
that Josh has learned his lesson very, very well. He also learned that you have
to work for everything, even… freedom!
