12 Angry Men

[pre]Hey guys - just putting this up to see if it's any good. . . like - you know, it's good to have more input than my kid sister or my dad who loves me to bits (ergo he'd say anything to throw me off from bugging him about reading it) on a piece of work that contributes to my overall OP [I'm in year 12 W00t!]

Basically it's your average Autobiographical excerpt from your life as one of the characters from a screen play - in this case, "12 Angry Men" by Reginald Rose.

TASK: change the view point of your character to make the reader feel different emotions than the ones brought on by the original play. (in other words, if the guy was an angry fag, turn him into a sweet angel)

Bah - I won't bore you with any more details about the assignment - I'd just like to know if there's any serious grammatical errors etc that I missed, and if it's interesting AT ALL.

Cheers!

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Chapter 22

Eeni-meeni-minee-mo – Guilty?



Two years after the night my boy, Scotty, left home screaming that he hated me, I was chosen for Jury duty. Got the little shit in the mail, and it sat on the kitchen table for a week before I finally had the nerve to open it. Like all normal citizens, I tried my best to get out of it – but my conditions weren’t extreme enough to warrant an excuse – like my just up-and-running messenger service ain’t a pressing cause?

Anyway – the case. The case shook me up pretty badly actually, to tell the honest truth. To an extent it reminded me of

(“I hate you! I never want to see you again! You’re NOT my father!”)

my relationship with Scotty, or Scott as he likes to be called now. That boy used to fly into my arms for hugs once. . . but I digress. I was known from day one till the day of the final verdict as Juror 3. I actually grew accustomed to the name after a while. The accused was a young Negro from the slums who was seen killing his old man by the lady across the street, and heard doing the deed by a man who lived below them. Seemed like a straight-forward case, really. Even the bloke’s lawyer was slack about proving the fellow was innocent.

The part of the discussion I remember the most was the second round of voting. See – first round I had voted “Guilty”. But by the second round, I was starting to feel swayed. Not enough to let the nigga loose on the streets again, but enough to listen, and to hesitate about my vote and its impact on the defendant.

I sat along with ten other men at the round table, staring at the scrap of paper in front of me. I was supposed to write my vote on that insignificant square of paper to determine the verdict of the young black fella on trial. Even the paper was prejudiced against him – it was white.

Reasonable doubt, the judge said, If there is a reasonable doubt – then you must bring me a verdict of “not guilty”.

One of the arguments for the boys’ release was the fact that the switch-knife used on the deceased was a common blade found in various places. This was proved quite dramatically by Juror 8. With the actual murder weapon lying on the table, he whipped out an exact double and buried it into the table with quite some force. I remember flinching; I wasn’t the only one. After seeing that switchblade knife duplicated by our defensive 8th Juror, the only thing running through my mind was doubt.

A lie. There was other stuff running through my head too. For instance: Why is this guy’s life hinged on what us twelve random men think? I’m a manager of a messenger service, for Christ’s Sake! This is not my job! I shouldn’t have to worry about Negroes living in slums who kill their fathers with knives they bought that night from a pawnshop!

It’s the kids

(Scotty)

and how they are nowadays that’s at fault. Angry. Hostile. I used to call my father “Sir” – you never hear that anymore. I think back on when my own boy was 16; the same age as the accused. I remember our fight. He was big, and he hit

(“Don’t ever touch me again! Do you understand me? Or I’ll give you another shiner, Pop. God help me, I will.”)

me in the face. You work your heart out and then you don’t hear from them in two years. . .

I think in the last few years of livin’ at home, he hated me. Not enough to kill me like this young'un did – but he hated me all the same. You’d have to be twisted to hate your father enough to stick a knife in his chest and put out his life like a freaking light. Twisted like the black fella I was determined to see in the obituary section of the newspaper. Funny. I don’t even remember the guy’s name.

Maybe Juror 8 had a point – this vote is about somebody’s life; a 16 year old ethnic who’s been raised with fists since he was a lil’ tyke. According to the testimony the boy looked guilty. But what if? What if he’s not guilty? And if not? What if the lil’ bugger did send his father off to the Pearly Gates? We’d be letting a guilty man back into our vulnerable community.

I spun the pen between my fingers and looked around. Juror 8 was standing at the window looking out with a studied interest as if the dreary street scene held something riveting – he was abstaining in this vote. Insane man.

Juror 10 had his slip of paper folded and tucked tightly in the palm of his hand, waiting impatiently for everyone else.

Old man Juror 9 fiddled with his pen and ran a hand through his thinning hair before quickly scribbling his answer down, as if at any second he’d change his mind.

My mind kept on straying over all that we talked about earlier. About a young black man that could be, or could equally not be, a cold-blooded murderer. I thought about

(“This is the last you’ll see of me, Old Man. I’ll finally be outtah yer life like you’ve always wanted.”)

Scotty. I thought about my wife and the 37 people working under me for Beck and Call. I thought about young Juror 7 who had an aversion to Milwaukee. I thought about the dinner being prepared at home, my woman waiting for me.

I reran some snippets of the arguments brought up about the case through my head:



8th Juror: . . . We owe him a few words. . .

10th Juror: . . . you’re not telling us to believe that kid, knowing what he is. . .

12th Juror: . . . Rice Pops. “The Breakfast with the Built in Bounce.” . . .

2nd Juror: . . I just – I think he’s guilty. I thought it was obvious from the word go. . .

Foreman: . . . and the coroner fixed the time of death at around midnight. . .

4th Juror: . . . two slaps too many. Everyone has a breaking point. . .

10th Juror: . . . The kids who crawl outa those places are real trash. . .

4th Juror: . . . He’s a product of a filthy neighborhood and a broken home. . .

7th Juror: . . . hang in there and pitch. . .

2nd Juror: . . . How d’you like that? . . .

7th Juror: . . . The odds are a million to one. . .

8th Juror: . . . It’s possible. . .



“But not very probable.” I whispered to myself. With a sick feeling bubbling in my stomach, I lean over my scrap of white paper. The sounds around me are amplified. I remember it clearly – the sounds I mean; in risk of sounding cliché, it was if it were yesterday, not 20 years on. I hear Juror 10 sniffling. Juror 7 tapping on the table with the end of his biro. The steady breathing of Juror 4 next to me.

I started to sweat. The air is heavy – and I can’t blame it on the tension ‘cos it’s actually going to rain – predicted a brief spat of heavy rain tonight, around 6 o’clock. I place the tip of my pen against the slip and with the word “Guilty” scrawled in my ugly schoolboy block print, condemn the accused to the electric chair. What’s that saying? – Better safe than

(dead)

sorry? Fry the lil’ shit. One less ethnic for us to watch out for.

I nod at my decision. But as the Foreman collects the individual slips, I still feel queasy. Why do I feel woozy? Like I’m gonna be sick all over my itchy court clothes? As if the walls are closing in on me?

I suddenly want to retract my verdict. I want some more time. More discussion time. More time to think it over. I wish I wasn’t on this jury. I wish I had raised my kid better. I wish that the accused had had a proper childhood.

But you know what they say about wishes;

(“I wish I had never been born, Pa – does that make you proud?”)

if wishes were pots and pans, there’d be no need for tinkers.

I close my eyes in despair as the foreman begins to read out our votes in a flat dead voice, “Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. . .”[/pre]

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Oh - and if anyone from Australia - in other words, if someone reads this, and then sees me hand it in in a fortnight when it's due and then tries to nail me for plagerism, yeah - I, JADYN A THONE wrote this, no-one else. . . *realizes how paranoid I sound* Anyways. . . heh. . .

This is very good, but would your teacher be pleased that put shit in the first paragraph:

lol, anyhow, this is very well written, I'm sure you will get a good mark. Not much else to say reall.y Good luck!

Hello! Thought I'd pay a visit.

First of all, is there a way for you to adjust the font. It's a bit blinding and can scare off reviewers. We wouldn't want that, would we? You wrote a very good piece, I dare say.

Two years after the night my boy, Scotty, left home, screaming that he hated me, I was chosen for Jury duty.

Anyway – the case. The case shook me up pretty badly, [no comma] actually, to tell the honest truth. To an extent it reminded me of--

The two dashes usually forms one in Microsoft Word. I'm assuming you don't use Word because of the font, but I could be way wrong. The dash looks like this, though: — Beautiful, no?

(“I hate you! I never want to see you again! You’re NOT my father!”)

I was a bit iffy about the parentheses. I didn't like them at first, but I didn't know how else to edit them. However, because this is the first "thought" that you introduce, the parentheses are probably not needed. Quotes are fine, I guess. I can live with those, but the parentheses won't be needed.

--my relationship with Scotty – [use a comma instead] or Scott as he likes to be called now. That boy used to fly into my arms for hugs once. . . [s]But[/s] but I digress.

Not enough to let the nigga' loose on the streets again, but enough to listen – [comma instead] and to hesitate about my vote and its impact on the defendant.

Reasonable doubt, the judge said, [period instead] If there is a reasonable doubt – [comma instead] then you must bring me a verdict of “not guilty”.

After seeing that switchblade knife duplicated by our defensive 8th Juror, the only thing running [s]though[/s] through my mind was doubt.

I shouldn’t have to worry about [s]Negro’s[/s] Negroes living in slums who kill their fathers with knives they bought that night from a pawnshop!

It’s the kids--

(Scotty)

--and how they are nowadays that’s at fault.

I remember our fight. He was big, and he hit--

(“Don’t ever touch me again! Do you understand me? Or I’ll give you another shiner, Pop. God help me, I will.”)

--me in the face.

Not enough to kill me like this youngun did – but he hated me all the same.

That looks a bit weird. Would Young 'un work? I'm not entirely sure, but an apostrophe should go in there somewhere.

Twisted like the black fella' I was determined to see in the obituary section of the newspaper. Funny. I don’t even remember the guy’s name.

That word doesn't seem to fit. Maybe expecting would work better?

Maybe Juror 8 had a point – this vote is about somebody’s life – [colon instead?] a 16 year old ethnic who’s been raised with fists since he was a lil’ tyke. According to the testimony, the boy [s]looks[/s] looked guilty. But what if? [dash instead] What if he’s not guilty?

This is a good spot to point this out. You are now switching tenses, and I don't think that's what your assignment meant. You do that from this point onward. Was that intentional?

Juror 8 was standing at the window looking out with a studied interest, [no comma?] as if the dreary street scene held something riveting – he was abstaining in this vote.

Old man Juror 9 fiddled with his pen and ran a hand through his thinning hair, [no comma] before quickly scribbling his answer down, as if at any second he’d change his mind.

I thought about--

(“This is the last you’ll see of me, Old Man. I’ll finally be [s]outtah[/s] outta yer life like you’ve always wanted.”)

--Scotty.

10th Juror: . . . The kids who crawl [s]outa[/s] outta those places are real trash. . .

This seems easier to post than all the lines here.

Put their dialogue in quotation marks. And I would suggest replacing the triple dots with the dashes again, as well as deleting the tags in front (i.e. Foreman, 2nd Juror...) The more I look at it, though, the more I'm not so picky about it. I, as the reader, just get lost in all the tags, feeling like I have to keep up with who's saying what. Just to throw that out there...

I remember it clearly – the sounds I mean; in risk of sounding [s]clichéd[/s] cliche, it was if it were yesterday, not 20 years on. I hear Juror 10 sniffling. [comma?] Juror 7 tapping on the table with the end of his biro.[comma?] The steady breathing of Juror 4 next to me.

I started to sweat.

This is where I felt the need to comment on your tenses. You switched tenses earlier, yes, but I didn't realize it as much as I did right here. You switched back to past tense, and that hurt my brain, trying to think why that happened.

The air is heavy – and I can’t blame it on the tension [s]‘cos[/s] 'cause it’s actually going to rain – predicted a brief spat of heavy rain tonight, around 6 o’clock.

Without the dashes, the sentence would read like this: The air is heavy predicted a brief spat of heavy rain tonight, around six o' clock. (consider writing out six. ^^) Dashes work kind of like commas. You should be able to take the phrase between two dashes and the sentence still make sense. I don't know how to rewrite it for you, though, for an example. At least not now--the comp's already giving me a headache. ^^;

I place the tip of my pen against the slip and with the word “Guilty” scrawled in my ugly schoolboy block print, condemning the accused to the electric chair. What’s that saying? – [don't belong here ^^]

*at this point, I'd like to mention: I messed up something when posting a PM and some of it may have gotten onto my crit here. I apologize if there's random whatevers in the middle of it. Otherwise, I don't think there should be and you can ignore this small note. *

Better safe than--

dead)

--sorry?

Looking at the next paragraph, I'm not going to point out the tense issue until the very end in my overall review.

But you know what they say about wishes, [colon instead]

(“I wish I had never been born, Pa – does that make you proud?”)

if wishes were pots and pans, there’d be no need for tinkers.

Oh - and if anyone from Australia, QLD, my school [insert school name here] comes across this, yeah - this is Jadyn A. Thone, year 12K2, Senior English [Ms Lowe] - in other words, if someone reads this, and then sees me hand it in in a fortnight when it's due and then tries to nail me for plagerism, yeah - I, JADYN A THONE wrote this, no-one else. . . *realizes how paranoid I sound* Anyways. . . heh. . .

I'm aware this isn't part of the story. However, I'd like to suggest not putting this here. You've given a lot of personal information on the internet. You can't always trust the internet. I, myself, get a bit paranoid when it comes down to giving even a first name on the internet.

As much as we can trust the admins and mods here, as well as other members, we unfortunately can't trust everyone and, therefore, must not post full names, countries of residence, place of education, and more. Just to put that out there. I'd get rid of this. No one should accuse you of plagiarism until speaking with you personally. They can always go back the next day and speak with the person if it is a possibility.

Now that that's out of the way, overall review!

This was a good story. You got me hooked a few paragraphs into it. Of course, this is...Chapter 22? Lol, whatevers. It was very good. I've never heard of 12 Angry Men, so I, unfortunately, cannot help you there.

The only major issue I saw was the change in tense. You were consistent with past tense, and then where I commented earlier is where you switched to present. You were consistent with present until that one line with a past tense verb. Lol, that was weird. I think that's a mistake worth looking into. Tense changes are not always good, if they ever are.

Otherwise, I hope I helped. Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!

Aedomir - thanks for that

*overwhelmed* Thank you Jabber!!! Wow - you went to INSANE lengths! Thank you thank you thank you *kisses ground at your feet*

*sigh* I didn't realize there were so many mistakes. . . Anyways - there were somethings that I wanted to point out - like, all your suggestions were great! Seriously! But (yeah - there's always a "but") there are some things that I'm going to keep as they are.

"First of all, is there a way for you to adjust the font. It's a bit blinding and can scare off reviewers." ------------ *laughs* Good idea. I'll change it as soon as I'm finished with this

"I was a bit iffy about the parentheses." ---------------- Ever read Stephen King? Well, every now and then, when a character was thinking, those "sub-thoughts" would pop up in between random words. I think you can agree with me that people generally don't just have one thought at once, or if they do, other thoughts pop in, triggered by some word, or phrase. That's what I was trying to show by using the brackets - thoughts within thoughts.

"You are now switching tenses, and I don't think that's what your assignment meant. Was that intentional?" --------------------- lol No, I don't think it was Hmm. . . See, it's autobiographical. . . So should it be in past tense or present tense? Should I. . . start of in past tense and then use the * * * thing to indicate a memory/flashback? *needs help*

"Put their dialogue in quotation marks. And I would suggest replacing the triple dots with the dashes again, as well as deleting the tags in front (i.e. Foreman, 2nd Juror...)" --------------- See, they're real quotes out of the book, and the ellipses are there because generally there is more before and after the bits I took out. And the way this guy (err... me?) is remembering it, is that way. Eh - like, he'll picture the Juror number, or the Juror's face, and then the relevant comment followed. Also this assignment is supposed to be only 800-1000 words max, and I've crippled the limit so I don't think adding more words would be wise. Or should I? Is there any parts in this that are extremely terrible and can be deleted?

"Quote: What’s that saying? – [don't belong here ^^]" ---------- lol, no. Um. You know. . . "What is that saying that people say all the time?" That's what I mean Not. . . some random bit of typing that somehow snuck it's way there

"I'm aware this isn't part of the story. Laughing However, I'd like to suggest not putting this here. You've given a lot of personal information on the internet. You can't always trust the internet. I, myself, get a bit paranoid when it comes down to giving even a first name on the internet." ------------------- *giggles* You make me sound like I'm 10 years old! ^^ Yeah - I know the dangers of the internet. But QLD is a very big state, and believe it or not, my last name is actually quite common. Oh, and my family's number is unlisted Thanks for the warning though. And I will prolly ask a Moderator to take this down before I hand in my assignment.

"This was a good story. You got me hooked a few paragraphs into it. Of course, this is...Chapter 22?" --------------- No! No no no no no!! I am not (contrary to popular belief) insane I'm not silly enough to write 22 Chapters for one English assignment. The task was that I was to write an EXCERPT of a WHOLE biography about the court case that happened 20 years ago. So yeah. I haven't written anything else but this about that. . . Err... yeah

Oh you helped alright! Thank you sooooo much! *hugs* If there's anyway I could return the favour, I am at your command.

Cheers!

- jai -