To Kill a Mockingbird Post #5

--Journal Entry--

Chapters 18-24

Jem Finch

          I watched my father walk across the floor. Pacing, talking to each witness. I watched and listened with unnerving tension during the entire trial. I felt Scout shift next to me, fidgeting. I could tell she understood none of what they were saying, she was just watching our father talk. And he was talking, there was complete silence in the room, the bustling, fidgeting, tapping, and sighing was gone. Eyes were wide and you could tell every single person in that courtroom was slowly taking in every word he said. It felt like we were slowly melting, all of us packed together in this burning hot room, but I barely felt the heat. I was too focused on Mr. Ewell and his lies, his trash talking, his not even stealthy deception, and his pure hate for all colored folks. He was a pure fraud, plain and simple. Then Mayella, how no one seemed to notice that their stories were different. Mr. Ewell said he chased Tom out of the house and Mayella claimed that he ran up to her and yelled "who done it?". Nothing seemed to matter, it was irrelevant, even with the lack of evidence, with Mayella basically admitting her father beat her instead, and the pure impossiblity that Tom could have done this. No, even with all that, Tom was black and that meant he was guilty.

         I was sure we were going to win this case at first, with all the evidence it seemed impossible to vote otherwise. We waited for two hours in the courtroom. Two hours for the court to decide, normally it would have been about five minutes for the jury to convict a black man against a white one. Scout looked like she was going to fall asleep, I subtly tried to shake her but she was bored, clearly not as an excited as me. I was wide awake, anxious for the outcome, convinced that he would be found innocent. It was so clear, clear enough for Scout to understand. But somehow, grown men with educations and experience could not understand something a simple 8 year old could.

       My breath seemed to disapear when the jurors walked out, and my heart sank. Everbody knows when the jury convicts the defendant they don't look at him, and the jurors were averting their eyes from Tom. No, I thought, this was not possible. The announcement came out, Tom Robinson was found guilty. Before I could stop them, tears streamed down my face. Sticky, and hot, and they made my eyes burn. Why? I wanted to shout, yell at them. How could you do that? How could you convict him? Were they not paying attention? There was no way he was guilty, but they couldn't believe a black man over a white one. Predjudice came before justice. White people being "better" than black people was going to send Tom Robinson to jail for a crime he did not commit. I tried to choke back my tears that were flowing down. It just wasn't right, it just wasn't. I started to realize we weren't all the same folks. We were separated into groups and nothing could ever make us get along. It was sad, we were all not joined as people, we were separated by our tiny differences. Like where we live and the color of our skin. A thought occured to me, maybe Boo Radley stays inside because he doesn't want to come out. Maybe, he doesn't want to leave and come out into this unfair world.

To Kill a Mockingbird Post #4

--Journal Entry--

Chapters 13-15

Dill Harris

       The cold floor was making my back ache along the ground. My spine felt like it was going to have a permanent curve from this awkward position. By now I had acquired a sharp pain in my legs from lack of movement. I desperately wanted to kick and shake out the pins and needles from it falling asleep but I couldn't risk making any noise. I tried to keep my breathing even and relax but it was hard to breathe the musty air and dust on the underside of Scout's bed. I ran my hands along the wood planks covering the bottom of her bed. I heard the tinkling and clattering of plates and voices in the dining room as I assumed the Finch's were eating supper. I felt my stomach growl and shake. How long had it been since I had eaten? One... maybe two days? I couldn't remember but it felt like forever. It was hard enough to think about something besides food without all the clattering of forks and knives.

       Slowly, the day to came to an end. After a fuss in the living room that involved Atticus and Scout and Jem’s Aunt Alexandra that I could barely hear, a fight broke out between Scout and Jem. He seemed so much older now, I was surprised that she had the guts to antagonize him. Of course, I could only see their feet but I could hear the shrieks and screams, Jem was so much bigger but Scout was putting up a good fight. I almost thought to jump out and help her, teaming up I think we could take him down but Atticus came in. I felt like I was watching a movie, lying under a bed watching the events unfold. It was interesting, when I was not dying of hunger or bored out of my mind, all alone in her messy room. I would have had a better perspective on all of this of course, with some food in my stomach. Scout crawled into bed then so I had to be quiet. I was careful not to breathe too loudly, but she bumped into me. I squirmed away in terror. I knew I was going to have to come out eventually but what were they going to think? It was too late, I saw Scout’s feet scrape the ground as she got out of bed and called for Jem. Now I knew I was in for it. Jem is smart, like Scout-plus-me-times-twenty smart. He would be able to find me. I tried to hold my breath and stayed as still as possible. A broom swooped under the bed a couple inches from my knee. I grunted without catching myself as I scrambled away in fear. “Do snakes grunt?” Scout asked, curious. That’s when Jem figured it out. I wasn’t a snake, I was a person. The next broom swipe missed my head by centimeters as I slowly emerged from under the bed. I had so carefully planned out my escape to make it infallible, but what now? What was I supposed to say? I stood there sheepish as I slowly looked at their gaping stares.

    I started off with another made up story about my parents hiding me in a cellar and barely being able to escape. I could tell they didn’t buy all my lies but they were too shocked to say anything about it. I mean, how was I suposed to say I ran away from a family that loved me? I got everything I want. They would think I was spoiled and send me back. And maybe I was, but my family didn't want me. Like I told Scout a little later, they didn't want to spend time with me. They would buy me toys and then make me go play by myself. It's not that they didn't love me, they told me they did everyday, it was simply that they didn't want to be around me. I was a nuisence. I could feel it, they wanted piece and quiet, and they gave me stern looks whenever I walked in. So I gathered my things together and took the train to Maycomb. Atticus, Jem, and Scout are more of like family, I knew that I was not wanted with my mother and step father. Now, my plan to get to Maycomb and to the Finch's place was clever. In fact, I spent all my time figuring that out that I didn't consider what might happen when they found me. So then, I found myself sitting in front of Atticus begging him not to make me go back. He was actually very pensive and calm, which I don't think a lot of grown-ups would have been if they found a boy hiding under the bed that shouldn't even be in town. He let me spend the night, and as I got ready for bed I already felt like I was back home.   

To Kill a Mockingbird Post #3

-Journal Entry-

Atticus Finch

Chapters 10-11

         

        It was late in the afternoon, my mind was spinning with laws, statements, and evidence. Papers clustered across my desk as I racked my brains for an idea. Scribbles of messy words and sentences scrawled across crumpled paper as I tried, and tried again, to write it out. I suppose the blistering heat baking through the windows wasn't helping either. It felt like I had been sitting in this stiff chair, preoccupied with my work for far too long. Then I got the call. Calpurnia said there was a crazy dog outside our house. It was not the typical time for those dogs to be out but she seemed quite sure so I ran out to get there as quickly as I could. By the time I got to the house I could see it. I skinny little thing, definitely crazy, wandering across the street, wobbling on its feet. Foam slowly dripped from its mouth dribbling along, and his eyes danced around, unfocused. I yelled for Jem and Scout to run inside, which I could tell they did not enjoy, but they did not dare to contradict me.

       We were not in grave peril, the dog was wandering around several meters down the road, but he was  dangerous for sure. He was definitely not inconspicuous, stumbling up and down the street, he would have to be shot before he hurt someone. We walked to as close as we dared get to the dog, and the Hector Tate pulled out his gun. After a bit of fumbling he glared at the gun, it was clear he did not believe he could hit the dog, and tried to hand it to me. I refused, I hadn't shot in ages, and this was not an easy shot either. But Hector was cantankerous, this was a one shot task. A miss would send the dog running and it could be hours before we could find him again. I mumbled something inaudible and reached for the gun. Pulling it into my hands I squinted, trying to aim. My hands were sweating from the heat and slipping off the gun as I gripped the sides. My hair started to slide in my face and I squinted through the gun at the dog. My glasses were slipping down my nose from the dribbling sweat. I pushed them up three times before I gave up and dropped them behind me. I would rather take the shot with bad eye sight then with those frustrating glasses slipping off. I prepared for the shot, focused and aware. I could feel the stillness in the air and there was no sound as I felt four pairs of eyes on me, watching what I did next. My finger clenched on the trigger and the gunshot broke through the silence, and with a yelp, the dog fell over. A rush of familiar excitement ran through me as I remembered those old days. When I could shoot anything from anywhere, and hit it on the first shot. I had given up the sport many years ago but that surge of energy when the bullet left the gun reminded me of those times. I went back to work after that, Jem's face of pure disbelief imprinted in my mind.