Personal Narrative : The Story Of A Short Story

The detectives apparently imagine their suspects imagining a way out, or a way to escape. The ones being interrogated, the suspects hope to stir up the correct use of words and excuses to go home and to forget about being questioned. Simon states that there are very few suspects that plead guilty and take responsibility for their actions, others deny everything that they are being questioned about. In Baltimore,

I cleaned myself up and then went to bed knowing that I would never be caught. As I watched the news the next morning, the man's face flashed across the screen but they said that there was no evidence leading to the murder of him. I let an evil smile creep over my face. I laughed until I couldn't laugh any more. Weeks passed and they still had no evidence, no suspects, and no witnesses. I was going to get away with it! There was a long period where I heard nothing. One afternoon, There was a loud knock at the door. I opened the door to three or four large policemen. “You're under arrest for the murder of Joseph Tomson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you.” He continued to speak but I couldn't hear him anymore. He asked me a question, but I didn't understand it. I opened my mouth to say something back, but no sound came out. The ride in the police car was long. I couldn't stop thinking of how they caught me. I had been so careful. I just couldn’t understand it. A few weeks later, I was sentenced in court to life in prison. I never figured out how they knew it was me. They moved me to a maximum-security prison where I was killed by one of my inmate's seven years

“No, you can’t, I-I didn’t do anything wrong. Please!” my voice rose, full of terror and regret. I looked over at the royal family, to the girl in the silver and purple dress, as if she could help me out of this situation. She simply blinked back at me. Rage churned in my stomach.

I start to hear an unlocking of a cell. I stay seated, knowing it would hurt if I got up. The private investigators start to pull me away. As we enter a very bright room, the light starts to screw my eyes. Suddenly, I start to get a loosing grip of the handcuffs. I sigh, but at that moment the investigator pulls my hand outward. He starts to rub a q-tip at the corners of my nails. I start to pull away when he gets into the blood.

You’re sitting at your house, you hear a knock at the door. You go and open it and to your surprise it’s the police. They’re turning you around and placing cold metal handcuffs on you while you’re getting read your miranda rights and spread eagle against the cop car while you’re searched. You’re being slung into the back of a cop car and driven to the police station, sirens wailing. When you arrive you get your picture taken, but you don’t smile. They take your finger and dip it in ink, then push it down hard on a piece of paper. They then put you back into the police car and drive you to another location. You’re still handcuffed, and you’re taken in. They put you in a dress, they put cold, heavy, loud shackles on your ankles.

I was dreading this moment, the moment that would choose my fate. I walked into the brightly lit courtroom, everyone was looking at me with judgmental glances. I walked up to the stand and raised my right hand to swear in.

invigorating with every motion I take going further out into the open water. Just as soap washes the

I was in a dark, moss-ridden dungeon where the air vigorously hung with the scent of death and suffering. Chains lay on the cobblestone walls, with hammered metal shackles on the cracked stone floor. My lab coat collected dust like a dead old skeleton six feet under. The gun felt gelid on my temple, my scrawny legs were shaking extremely fast, I thought they would run away but I knew I could escape.

I felt cold drops of water land on my forehead. I grunted. Pouring water on my head was my mother's favorite way of waking me up when I was being rather difficult because I deemed it too early to get up out of my warm blanket cocoon. It was nine o'clock on October second 2012, the last day of the big soccer tournament which my team was tied first for.

“The methods, strategies, and consciousness of American police interrogators have been transformed: psychological persuasion and manipulation have replaced physical coercion as the most salient and defining features

In and out, in and out. I kept telling myself nothing was going to happen to me, but you never know these days with a killer after me.

I wiped my last tears off my cheeks. A police officer stood next to me. He grabbed a crowbar and tried to hit me in the head. The crowbar hit me a little bit, but I grabbed it. I looked at the police officer's face.

After they got me in handcuffs we immediately when to the station. On the way, I looked out the window it was a beautiful day, about 27 C. When we got there they instantly put me in a questioning room. They asked one question, only one.”Why did you do it.” I told them everything, about the noise and his dreaded eye.

Execution duty. I had been assigned to execution duty. I had always feared that this day would come. Removing my hand from the assignment device, I reluctantly accepted my fate. Walking through the blank white hallway, I passed a group of engineering guys installing ceiling lights. The outpost was still under construction, and had been since before I was stationed there. Seeing the blue hologram floating above my head, they stopped their work and stared at me sympathetically. A few even gave salutes. They knew as well as I did that I would walk in that room a man, and leave a monster.

As I walked into Hall D of the Kentucky International Convention Center, I noticed half of my team sitting on the green and blue carpet with yellow streaks. I joyfully skipped over to Lexi, my strong back spot, sat down, and started to tie the long, rough-looking white laces of my off-white Tumblina cheer shoes. All around me, I heard murmurs; cheer counts from one to eight, laughing moms and daughters, gossip behind me, and coaches trying to perfect their teams routine before hitting the big mat. I could smell the strong scent of hairspray, hot food right from the restaurant nearby, and the disgusting smell of spray glitter all around me.