March 8, 2012:
I think the date I have the paper is wrong. The guard (remember the baton noise maker person?) wasn't very keen about telling me the date for whatever reason. I mean, it's a freaking number! It's not like I asked for the blueprints for the pentagon. Why are adults so grumpy all the time?
Leaving my life questions behind, I am now sitting in yet another ugly, boring room. This time it has a steel rectangular table in the center and two chairs on either side. The wall that I am facing has a mirror where I can see the gray wall behind me. It's not a mirror though, I've watched enough NCIS episodes to know that. Interrogation. The word sounds taboo and I can't help the small spark of uneasiness that ripples throughout my body. I shift in the hard chair and my fingers find the end of my navy blue shirt and fiddle with it, the annoying habit that I can't seem to dispose of.
Trying with effort to calm myself down (and failing miserably), I recall what happened early this morning as people hustled me in a car and ignoring all my persistent questions. There were only three of them. One was the baton-noise-maker-person, another was an old lady who seemed to have the shortest memory span in history, and the other was the driver whom I have little detail on. I was ushered into a black car and the woman took the front passenger seat and the guard, who seemed reluctant, sat next to me. For the umpteenth time in the past five minutes I asked my apparently obnoxious request.
"Where in the heck am I being taken?" I gazed upon the guard, eyes full with confidence, anger, and concern. The guard's glance was brief, but I noticed the eye roll. It aggravated me when adults don't take children seriously. I understand that they think they are superior than us, yet still they should at the absolute minimum, treat us with respect and not disregard us as insolent people. (I'm done with my rant now.) He must have noticed the immediate, eerie silence because he answered me in a voice barely more than a whisper. "Interrogation. Hopefully you'll get some lawyer who can put up with your smart aleck mouth." There no was no further talk in the vehicle after that.
So I know that I am here for a lawyer, but I don't understand why. I told that I committed murder and their going to send me somebody to convince the court that I am innocent. Law work is difficult and confusing. Maybe though, getting some outside help would be nice and helpful. If I want that I have to keep the smart comments to myself. Hmm... That sounds a lot harder than I thought. I don't think those major behavior improvement people would be able to assist me anyway in a month let alone an hour. I hear noise from behind the door, so I guesstimate that that's the lawyer coming to "talk" to me. Hopefully, I'll be good. I gonna need a lot of hope.