I had a hard time coming to terms with the death of both parents within a couple months of each other, especially seeing as I’d shot one. The court date had been set. I had exactly three weeks to prepare and my best friend’s older brother was to be my lawyer. He at least knew something of the situation at home, though all he knew was from second- and third-hand accounts.

“Jacob Murray, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth in this court of law?”

And thus began my trial. I broke down sobbing three times. They asked me why I shot my father. There was no question that I had done it, I owned up to it immediately.

“I shot him because he beat my mother to death.”
“You realise, young Jacob, that the court found the death of your mother to be an accident?”
“Yes.”
“Do you also realise that by saying this you are attempting to say the courts are wrong?”
“Yes. I watched him beat her.”
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“He would have beat me too.”