Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Story for personal narrative
Story for personal narrative
Story for personal narrative
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: Story for personal narrative
The judge entered the room. The prosecutor and I stood and the court case was now in session. The prosecuting attorney stated the charges. It was now my turn to defend my client as the defense. I had no idea what to do. I stood up and began to speak. The prosecutor looked very confident as i began to speak, but the further i went, the more nervous and shaky he became. My client was charged on the account of breaking and entering. I managed to somehow use my creativity to worm my way out of this situation being that my client was guilty and confessed. After the session concluded the camp counselor came up to me and said that my defense was one of the most creative and unorthodox win he has ever witnessed. That was the moment i realized I enjoyed
The defense the defendant raised was he had not monitored financial transactions within The Sommit Group and denied any knowledge of stolen money clients and government. He had admitted to guilt of not being fully aware of the financial transactions, but nothing more than that.
Courtroom 302 is one of the busiest courtrooms in the United States and that isn’t always the case, but the processes are still the same. According to our textbook, (Neubauer, D.W. & Fradella, H.F., 2017, p. 13) “The overwhelming majority of crimes involve burglary and theft.” Which Courtroom 309 gives many cases that involved some sort of theft or robbery, like the case that mentioned earlier. It also gives a great representation of the flaws that our criminal justice system
Billy Thompson and Sam Westfield were similar in many ways. Since a young age they both has excelled at sports and both loved more then anything, the sport of football. While growing up, the boys did not know each other and probably thought they would never have too. But all of that changed with the diagnosis.
Bang! Crack! Screech! Pop! These are the sounds that interrupted me from playing with my cousin. My mind raced to see what exactly had happened. I run out of the house and to the courtyard. My cousins want me to come back in, they said zombies were walking the streets and that the government sent troops to kill them. I denied it, so I ran out to the street to see what happened. My heart pounded and my stomach grew anxious as the aroma of bacon and engine oil filled the air. As I grew closer to the scene, men shed blood from their eyes alike the woman. As I walked closer and cut through the crowd, a cold and simple wind had ripped the thoughts out of my head. It was a grieving mother over her son's body. His body fresh and mutilated from the crash. Shattered ribs and guts exposed. His head had exploded and his
Something happened my sophomore year of high school that little did I know would change my perspective, not only of myself, but life in general. I was looking for something new and exciting to enhance my high school existence and decided to give the Criminal Justice Club a try. I was familiar with the advisor of the club, but knew that the club had astigmatism for attracting those students who were just looking for something easy to do. I knew about the criminal justice system, but only what they show on Law and Order. However, I immediately fell in love, not only with the club but the entire prospect of Criminal Justice. I stepped into the club as if it were a place I belonged and easily became a leader. I was able to learn things the TV shows
Growing up as an only child I made out pretty well. You almost can’t help but be spoiled by your parents in some way. And I must admit that I enjoyed it; my own room, T.V., computer, stereo, all the material possessions that I had. But there was one event in my life that would change the way that I looked at these things and realized that you can’t take these things for granted and that’s not what life is about.
What was my role in a mock trial? I was a juror on both days to be exact. My job was to take notes and listen to both sides of the case, the prosecution and the defense team. I thought that being a juror would be fun, but it’s really not. Its hard to judge somebody knowing that your decision would prove this person guilty or not guilty, and knowing that your decision will change this person’s life forever. This is what happens to a juror/ jury when they’re listening to a case and then have to decide on a verdict.
Happiness is fake, like something forced upon me; something not real, fabricated and I don’t like it. I’m supposed to like it though. I’m supposed to like everything the government forces on me. I feel like I’m the only person who doesn’t feel content with my life, everyone else seems to be perfect while I’m falling apart at the seams.
The night before, I went over everything again and again until it was almost perfect. The final court day, I wore a long black romper with some black tall heels. I woke up, ate a nice breakfast, and then got into my mother’s car. It felt like such a short time that I was in the car. I went inside to the courtroom and waited again for the judge. The trial lasted about ten minutes, it was short and sweet. I got off with 300 hours of community service, restitution of $3000 dollars, and probation for one year. This felt like the luckiest I've ever been, and it was such a relief. It was relieving knowing that I was going home to my family, that I'll be home for holidays, and that I’ll be able to go to
I entered the jury deliberation not guilty, and I left not guilty. I remained not guilty despite the pressure from my fellow jurors to “compromise” at a second degree murder verdict (which was not a compromise from my perspective at all) or to go all the way up to a first degree murder charge. I thought that this case was an easy “not guilty.” It definitely was not.
I have read the couse syllabous and have located as well as navigated the Atomic Learning folder. I am majoring in Criminal Justice. I completed the pretest 8/16. My hobbies are playing music, currently I am in the ICC Hard Bop Jazz Band, I am a SCUBA diver, and a motorcycle rider.
It was a cold, wet, sunny day in New York City. I had just gotten up and looked out the window when what did I see? I saw two policemen right outside the J & L Car Care shop examine a man outside that shop. I wondered what they were doing and what that man ever did to get policemen examine him. I mean he doesn't look like a criminal. So that's when I got up from my nice and warm bed to go ask my mom or dad about what was happening out there. I went down the cold creaky steps I stepped on the first step and started to regret not putting socks on. When I got downstairs I found out that my dad had already gone to work and my mom was nowhere to be seen. So I just went up to my sister Mariyana, and asked her what was happening out there. She replied
The Court Visitors Program brought a variety of experiences and challenges. These challenges, although sometimes overwhelming, created an opportunity for growth. While interacting with both professionals in the field and individuals within the program, I became more aware of what is put into the care of the “incapacitated.” Originally my thoughts coming into the program were very little, although I knew this program would be a great insight into a field that I am immensely interested in. Throughout the program I remained open minded about what laid ahead. Having little experience in this area I was worried about how to conduct myself during the visits. When it comes to a professional setting, my weakness is creating a conversation. Without
My trial had been set for Monday, one day from now. Just one more day until I was out I kept telling myself. I had already met with my lawyer once, he was nice enough but seemed slightly oblivious. He didn't even ask me if I did it, didn't he want to know? He just went over what I had been doing that evening only asking a few questions. I didn't know how that would help him prepare for my case but I didn't want to think about that. I trusted him enough. I knew that was dumb but I did it anyways.
It was my fault, no one else’s, the time where failure hit harder than someone beating a drum. End of spring 2013 I found out that I was repeating the grade all over again, never have I imagined myself being in that position till that year. Leading up to this was beginning of ninth grade year, terrified knowing that I wasn't going to know anybody I was going to be alone. I went through so much emotionally it began to show the first few weeks of high school. Constantly having anxiety attacks where I end up staying the entire day in the office since I kept crying eyes out.