Told By Him
Corey’s Story
Hear Corey’s story in his own words, or continue reading below to understand the events that changed his life.
Hello… and thank you for being here. My name is Corey Webb. And I want to take a moment to tell you the truth about my story… in my own words.
Because a lot of times, the media tells a version of events…but it leaves out what it actually felt like to live it.
I’m 32 years old now. But I’ve been incarcerated since I was 16… serving a 50-year sentence in Texas.
I’m originally from Kansas City, Missouri. That’s home for me.
But when I was 16, I got on a Greyhound bus and went to Tyler, Texas to be with my girlfriend at the time.
What I didn’t know… was that while I was on that bus, my mother had reported me as a runaway.
So the moment I arrived at the bus station in Tyler… I was detained. Just like that.
No preparation. No understanding. No time to think.
I was taken to the Smith County Juvenile Detention Center.
And I remember… I was terrified.
I had never been to jail before.
Everything I thought I knew about jail came from stories… stories about people being assaulted… raped… killed.
And now I’m 16… in a completely different state… I don’t know anyone…
I don’t have anyone…
And I’m sitting there thinking: “What is about to happen to me?”
That fear started to take over my mind. And when fear takes over a 16-year-old… you don’t think clearly.
You don’t think legally.
You think about survival.
I convinced myself that the only way to stay safe… was to get out.
So during intake… out of fear, out of panic, out of ignorance… I tried to escape.
I grabbed a gun and shot out the windows… trying to get outside.
I didn’t shoot at anyone.
I didn’t try to hurt anyone.
I was trying to get away.
But the plan didn’t work.
All it did… was leave me cut up… bleeding… my arms sliced… my face cut… trying to push my body through broken glass.
Then a SWAT team came in…
because someone had called and said there was a shooter inside a juvenile facility.
I was treated like something I wasn’t.
I was taken to the hospital… stapled up… and then brought right back to the same place I had just tried to escape.
And that’s when everything changed.
Not long after, I met with my attorney.
And he told me I was being charged with attempted capital murder.
I remember my heart just… stopped.
I thought, “This can’t be real.”
Then the charge was reduced to aggravated assault on a public servant…
but I still didn’t understand.
“How am I being charged with assault… when I didn’t hurt anyone?”
In my mind, the truth was simple.
There were cameras.
I thought… the video will show everything.
That I never tried to hurt anyone.
That I was just scared.
But later, I found out something that changed everything.
The video footage had been altered.
And what should have been proof…
became something that worked against me.
It became my word… against the state.
From there, I was told they were trying to certify me as an adult.
At 16 years old… I’m hearing that I could be facing up to 99 years in prison.
And then they put me in segregation.
Alone.
No one to talk to.
No one to guide me.
Just my thoughts… over and over… every day…
“What’s going to happen to me?”
Even then… I still had hope.
I thought maybe… because no one was hurt…
maybe I’d stay in the juvenile system.
I was wrong.
When I went to that certification hearing…
it didn’t feel like I had a chance.
It felt like the decision had already been made.
And on August 26, 2010… at 16 years old… I was certified as an adult.
Immediately after that… I was transferred to an adult jail.
Still a kid… surrounded by adults.
Back in segregation again.
Not because of what I did…
but because of my age.
Then I was assigned a court-appointed attorney…
Who never wrote me.
Never visited me.
Not even once.
He was eventually removed.
But the next attorney wasn’t better.
Before trial, he actually asked the judge to remove himself from my case… twice.
He said my family was interfering… just for asking questions.
The judge denied both requests.
So now I’m going to trial… with a lawyer who doesn’t want to represent me.
And doesn’t like my family.
My family drove all the way from Kansas City to be there for me.
But my attorney had them removed from the courtroom.
So now I’m 17 years old…
on trial…
alone.
No support. No voice. No protection.
Just me… an all-white jury… prosecutors… a judge…
And a system I didn’t understand.
As the trial went on… I could feel it.
The way I was being described…
like I was some violent, experienced criminal.
Like I came in there trying to kill someone.
And I remember thinking…
“This isn’t about the truth anymore.”
It felt like I was watching a process…
that was already decided.
Like I was just going through the motions of something… that was meant to take my life… through paperwork.
I was scared.
Not just nervous…
terrified.
My anxiety got so bad… I started panicking.
I drank water… just trying to cope… trying to do something with my hands.
And then my body started reacting.
I needed to use the restroom.
I told my lawyer.
He told me to wait.
30 minutes passed.
Then 20 more.
Then more waiting.
At that point… I couldn’t hold it anymore.
And I remember thinking something that still stays with me:
“If I move… they’re going to shoot me.”
That’s where my mind was.
That’s how afraid I was.
But I had no choice.
I walked over to a trash can… in the middle of a silent courtroom… and relieved myself.
And it felt like time stopped.
The judge was furious.
I tried to explain…
but it didn’t matter.
To him, it was just disrespect.
To me… it was panic.
Fear.
A kid breaking down in a room full of adults.
After that… everything just kept falling apart.
My attorney tried to withdraw again.
And then he told me: “If you keep acting like this… just take an open plea.”
At that point… I was done.
I wasn’t thinking about strategy…
I wasn’t thinking about outcomes…
I just wanted out of that room.
Out of that moment.
Out of that fear.
So I agreed.
I pleaded guilty.
Not because I believed I deserved it…
but because I couldn’t fight anymore.
Not alone.
And I remember… when I said that…
the prosecutor smiled.
Papers were handed to me.
I signed them.
And just like that… it was over.
Later, I went to sentencing.
And the judge gave me 50 years.
I was 17 years old.
And I’ve been here ever since…
trying to find justice…
trying to be heard…
trying to show that who I was at 16…
is not who I am today.
Corey’s story did not end there.
Over the past 16 years, he has grown, studied, reflected, written, and worked to become a different man than the scared teenager who entered the system.
His journey today is one of faith, accountability, discipline, and redemption.