March 3, 1935 : The trial ended. I was convicted guilty by the jury. When I was walking out to go to the prison, I had no hope 'cause I was a black man and all the all the white people despised me (except Atticus). I still had no hope when Atticus told me that we could ask for an appeal. 'Course I didn't believe him since I were black and blacks are always get accused because of the color of their skin, even if they're innocent. The court emptied and I was taken back to prison. When I got back to prison, I had to sleep in that uncomfortable bed once again. The next morning we had to exercise. It was my only chance of escaping. I ran to the fence and as quick as I could, and jumped over the fence. I was getting away when suddenly I was shot and hurt real bad. I was repeatedly shot and fell to the ground.