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Juror Number Eight
" And the verdict is?" The judge's voice booms through the court room. I simply sit, fiddling my thumbs, telling myself, they have to know I didn't do it. I'm a family man, I would never do anything to harm someone.
"Your honor, we find the defendant guilty." That was when my life came to a screeching halt. I was sentenced to 35 years in prison for a crime I never committed. How had this come to be? It was just a couple of weeks ago, I was lounging on the couch with my beautiful baby girl wrapped up in my arms. What I would do to just be able to hold her one last time, to see her laugh with those wide blue eyes, but now all of that was taken from me, just as fast as my fate was decided for me.
Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Stew and I am just an average guy who was wrongfully convicted of murder about seven years ago. No one took the time to prove my innocence, until now. Imagine, your wife and kids moving on without you, being nothing more than a distant memory. I never had the chance to see my baby take her first steps, or speak her first words, it all still haunts me to this day. It was just recently when I was removed from my cell, and told that there had been break in my case. They told me what I already knew, that I didn't commit the crime. It was a man by the name Jamal Evans, a low-life scum bag who had taken the last seven years from me; years that I would never get back.
Jamal. He's the reason why I will make sure that no human being is stripped from their life, their family, their future, like I was. I will fight for anyone to have their case heard, to be tried fairly, and protect them, but most importantly, make sure that justice will be prevailed.
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A fictious backstory about Juror Number 8 of the play "Twelve Angry Men"