Personal Narrative: Stripped Of Freedom Essay

2295 words - 9 pages

The bald-headed one returned, whispered to his partner, and then both glanced in my direction. It was no ordinary look. I recognized the expression. It was the same expression officers gave criminals on the hit television series Cops before the inevitable happened (the chase or takedown). An intense fear rushed through my body. A sensation of numbness spread like poison from my chest; I was immobile, like a deer caught in headlights. With a single look, all sense of freedom drained from the body. To them, I am guilty. To them, I am a criminal. “STAND UP and TURN AROUND," bellowed the officer. The raspy voice sliced through the air and penetrated the silent room. I breathed out cautiously, so as not to challenge my innocence--if such a concept even existed. Slowly, I stood up. Slowly, I turned around.
It was Wednesday, possibly; technically, the middle of the week, except the days had oddly morphed into a week. In my fatigued and sleep-crazed state, I had a distorted sense of time. Still, I sensed an end to the madness as I approached more closely to a dimly lit building. My pace quickened as the building stood taller before me. The bottoms of my feet stomped the ground beneath--each step heavier than the last. Repeatedly, I swiped my hand across the air to get the flurries out of my face, but they remained. I was outnumbered from every direction .The sweeping back and forth motion exhausted my arm. So, reluctantly, I allowed them to collide violently with my stiff body while I continued in the footsteps marked by the student in front of me. In an almost zombie-like manner, I shuffled my feet through the side door of the Chemistry building and narrowly avoided a collision with another student. My mind was fixated on reaching the destination. My icy lips tingled slightly at the warm touch of my tongue and water had soaked through my shoes, penetrating to the bottom of my mismatched socks. I shrugged off the persistent sharp pain in my side and continued, desperately, trying to slow the intake rate of each breath. Once I reached the crowded room, I made an effort to squeeze past two or three students and slouched into an open seat. I read questions and shaded in bubbles, until I heard the faint voice of the instructor’s words echo from wall to wall “Time is up.” As the pencil slipped from my tightly gripped hold, light beamed in past the dungeon-like window, warming my face. Was it daylight? I had hardly even noticed. Nevertheless exams were over; finally sleep could take me, I thought foolishly.
Although it is difficult to declare with an absolute certainty, I speculate that it must have been midday when, at last, I reached my dormitory. I struggled up the ladder to the top bunk bed; I was ready to surrender to my droopy eyes –- a temptation I could no longer resist. I moved aside a copy of the Michigan Daily that had been resting atop my pillow. The heading read “Casey Anthony is Innocent.” What is innocence? Is it lack of...

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