"And so.. My fellow members of the Jury do you not agree that this girl is guilty of murder?!" The lawyer babbled on and on. After a while all I heard was blah blah blah. Yea that's me, get prosicuited for murder. If I was in America it would be the death sentance, for example the electric chair, but I'm not. I'm in Britain where the most you can for Murder is so many years behind bars. Well not all bad really, you get your meals they let out for fresh air and you get a room. Don't get me wrong I don't like jail. I don't really like life either. I sat there just watching now. The jury had to come to a verdict sometime or other. It was the first piece of evidence that struck me. The murder weapon. It was a knife. No a dagger. Who the Hell did they think I was?! Jack the Ripper?! I think not. My Mother was behind me, I could hear her soft sobs. It wasn't fair on her. Her only daughter. Jailed. It makes her sound a bad parent. She's not she's amazing. I just hung around with the wrong crowd. I never caught up in this. I hated violence and the idea of rioting made me sick. I still don't understand why I did it. I just did.