2.4 Writing Portfolio – Chapter One

Onfroy had decided early on that he didn’t like Judge Clarkson. She was one of those people that were unsettling just to be around, with her tiny eyes that were morphed and ridiculously enlarged through thick glasses, piercing into Onfroy’s skull while he tried to avoid her gaze. It’s hard though, to look away when someone stares at you like that, with no emotion whatsoever. Especially when you know that their mind is buzzing with activity; judging, analysing, maybe comparing your situation with others. As Onfroy figured out where to look and become uncomfortably conscious of where his eyes pointed, he pondered the possible outcomes of today’s meeting. This was 2074, and T-Nip was the most reliable that it had ever been. He reckoned that this gave him a pretty solid chance of coming away with a 5:10, or maybe even a 5:7 if he was really lucky, although with this judge, his hopes weren’t high.

She spoke in a monotone but authoritative voice. ‘Mr Jackson, you are accused of fraudulent activities associated with cheques and currency. Seventeen counts. From these activities, the prosecution has presented evidence for profits of more than two hundred and thirty-three thousand dollars, three luxury motor vehicles and one major residence on… Dunlop Street. If found guilty, these assets will be seized by the state. Sir, what is your plea to these charges?’

Onfroy’s attorney gave him a soft nudge that sent a cool chill throughout his body, starting at the point of contact, and slowly radiating outwards through his core and to each of his limbs. He sensed that his own perspiration was starting to become substantially more intense, which set off a fresh wave of anxiety – as if that wasn’t bad enough already. What if people could smell – or even worse, see it? He hoped that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up through the thin dress shirt that he was wearing. The tie that complimented it wasn’t helping with the heat either. The more he thought about it, the more he continued to sweat. Dark patches began to appear under his arms and a few small beads of sweat materialised on his forehead. With clammy hands Onfroy reached out to the small button beneath the microphone and cleared his voice. ‘I would like to assert my fifth amendment rights at this time.’ He spoke the words clearly and carefully, but in a borderline sarcastic tone. These phoney expressions and phrases that his attorney had taught him to say were becoming tiresome. He suspected that they weren’t helping him either – the stalling techniques were more likely to be a scheme that lawyers used to exponentialize legal fees – although to be fair, this would be the perfect opportunity for it.  For a start, he was guilty.  Three years of running the biggest cheque forging business in the northern hemisphere don’t come without a price. Secondly, the prosecution was overflowing with evidence.  He glanced over at their side of the room, where they all sat perched on their fancy leather chairs, smugly reading over their notes and whispering observations to each other. He knew that they had won the case, that he was going to spend his life in prison, which made him hate those smug little pricks even more. Anger began to flow through his veins, further increasing the rate of his perspiration and filling his muscles with oxygenated blood, as the human body does when it is getting ready to strike. But a thought ran through his head – what use did getting upset have? If he had a rage at these people who were attempting to put a wall in front of his life, what good would it bring him? What benefit did it have?

In that moment alone, Onfroy made a decision that would affect his life forever. Stopping Judge Clarkson mid-sentence, he spoke in a loud, clear voice, so as not to be overpowered by the court’s general murmur. ‘Your honour-‘ She stopped what she was saying and peered over her glasses at him, in the way that older women often do when they disapprove of what you’re saying. What came next however, did change her expression. ‘Your honour… I would like to plead guilty to the charges against me. And… ma’am if I may, could I have a moment to speak to the court?’ His attorney winced as if she had been pricked by a blunt needle. She let out a small nasal sigh, signalling a combination of disappointment and confusion – and fair enough too. The case had been open for months, with over four full days in court and hours upon hours of paperwork. ‘Well… Yes, I suppose you may.’ Visible confusion was now spread across Judge Clarkson’s face, and she was clearly intrigued as to why Onfroy had chosen now to confess. Although he was a liar, a cheater and a criminal, Onfroy was well-spoken, and made his statements clear and concise. Such language dexterity was rare nowadays, especially from someone who was in trouble with the law. ‘Your honour… I have done bad things in my life. Greed is a terrible, terrible thing and I was infected by it. It ruined me. This is… this is why I ask that my sentence be put to good use. If there is any chance that I could use my time ahead of me to fix the mistakes I have made, rather than solely being punished for them, it would mean the world to me.’ Onfroy paused momentarily. ‘I want to help the people that I have hurt.’ He exhaled slowly as the court was completely silent. All eyes were on him, and nobody dared speak. Judge Clarkson cleared her voice. ‘Well, Mr Jackson that was quite the speech. You clearly show remorse for your actions, which is a good start. I’m assuming that little speel was independent of your attorney’s advice?’ She peered over at his desk, where the woman sitting next to him nodded quickly. ‘Very well Mr Jackson. You are hereby charged with fraud – seventeen counts, and sentenced to 1000 realtime hours community service, after serving 5 years as 7 in labour prison. And Mr Jackson, I do appreciate your speech, but the law is the law. I cannot stretch one criminal’s time more than another solely because they are sorry about it. Court is adjourned.’