I am not a lawyer, nor do I have a degree in criminal law; in fact I'm only fourteen... I watch a lot of Law & Order and CSI though... So some parts in the justice system will probably be a little off... work with me here

Please enjoy though


Prison Gates

"Your honor, we find the defendant guilty," the representative of the jury stood up and told the judge.

It was four months after the accident that the court heard my case; it was a very long four months. I know that during my life, I haven't been much of a thinker. Between this moment and the one when I found out that I caused someone their life and took a family member, a friend, away from other people, all I did was think. I thought about this woman's family, her friends, the job she had, everything she worked for in life, everything that I took away from her, things that normal people don't sit and spend their time thinking about. From there, I stopped partying and drinking, falling into a stage where I actually stopped thinking and would just sit there. Life should have an undo switch; I know I sure could've used it as I faced charges of murder.

I could feel eyes pushing me into the table in front of me by the jury behind, they were all anxious to hear my punishment. They wanted my defeat, my downfall.

"Troy Bolton, you are charged with murder of the second degree," the judge looked down at me with disappointment written across the old, worn, woman's face, announcing to everyone, "The laws of the state of New Mexico see that you are a minor and sentence you to four years in prison with alcohol rehab and upon the end of your serve, you are also to complete 400 hours of community service."

My mother broke out into tears while my father watched for my reaction. Nothing came out of my mouth; no words could describe how I felt. I didn't know how I felt. I was a convicted murderer; I committed a felony. The next four years would be hard, I wasn't a killer, I don't belong with killers; I just accidentally killed someone.

"Let's go Troy," an officer forced me to turn around and hastily cuffed my wrists together.

They were shining in the dim courtroom lights, but they reminded me that I wasn't going home, I wasn't a free person anymore. I could hear their laughing, they were mocking me, pushing me down and kicking me; they controlled me.

The officer didn't give me a chance to say goodbye to my parents, but it didn't matter anyway, they didn't care before, what would change?

Eventually, I was led out of the courthouse and down the front steps of the building where hundreds of flashes were directed at me. News medias were anxiously waiting to hear what I was charged with and questions were flying from all around me while I stood frozen and dragged to the police car.

As we drove towards the Albuquerque correctional facility, I watched the scenery outside and memorized every little bit of Albuquerque, knowing that I wouldn't see outside of that prison for four years. I passed the candy shop that I went to as a child and then there was a small mall towards the end of our ride and I recalled a very happy time in my life. I was only eight, but my parents would bring me there every weekend until mom got her new job and started working weekends. I felt like I would forget every happy memory while I was in prison and they would all be replaced by horrible pictures of men that would rip your guts out with a fork if you talked to them.

We stopped outside of the large fenced in building. Barbed wires jutted from the top of the fencing and guard towers sat in the corners of the fencing. The yard inside wasn't taken care of, it was brown grass that was trampled with a few red splotches, that I soon realized wasn't spray paint. The officer in the driver's seat got out and opened my door and helping me out gently, I think he knew that I wasn't some nasty dirt bag serial killer. Soon, I was led into the nasty colored grass. I told myself not to look back, but I did. I watched as the gap between the gates of the prison got smaller and I took my last breath of freedom that I would have for four years.

Life in prison was hard. There was no such thing as privacy in those four walls. Sleeping was done in a room with your cellmate, your bathroom was in your cell with your cellmate, you ate in your room with your cellmate.

Luckily for me, my roommate was a pretty neat guy. His name was Rio Tardge, and he eventually became a really great friend. Now Rio was in for five years for tax evasion. I was fortunate to not have a killer sleeping next to me, however there were some men across the hall that would get in fights every night forcing the guards to break them apart.

Time is something that doesn't matter in prison. There's nowhere to go and never somewhere you have to be at a certain time so we didn't need clocks.

But after what felt like twenty years in prison, four were actually over, and once again I was free.


I know that not everyone is a christian but I invite anyone who reads this, and cares, to pray with me for peace for the families of these people and others that have lost their lives in car accidents.

Alan Klien, Latanya and her husband, Mandy, Harry, and Jessica.

God is always there.

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