To Kill a Mockingbird-Creative Writing

To Kill a Mockingbird-Creative Writing
The day after my twelfth birthday, the money had almost completely burned a hole in my pocket. Scout and I started to town in the early afternoon to purchase a steam engine for me and a twirling baton for her. We took our normal path, right by Miss Dubose?s house and unfortunately, she was out on the porch.

?Where are you going at this time of day?? she shouted. ?Playing hooky, I suppose. I?ll just call the principal and tell him!? She looked like the ugliest thing I had ever seen. Oh, did I ever hate her.

?Aw, it?s Saturday, Mrs. Dubose,? I said.

?It makes no difference,? she screamed.
She went on and on about how Miss Maudie had told her that I had broke her scuppernong this morning and when my father found out how he would send me to reform school. As she crowed on and on, she reminded me of big, fat buzzard. I knew she was talking nonsense, because I had not been near Miss Maudie?s scuppernong since last summer and she would never tell Atticus even if I had broke it. Then she started to pick on Scout.

?And you, what are you doing in those overalls? You should be in a dress and camisole young lady!?

Mrs. Dubose bawled on and on about how if anyone did not change Scout?s ways that she would end up waiting on tables at the O.K. Café. I grabbed Scout?s hand to reassure her. I told her to hold her head high and be a gentleman. I did not know what I was thinking right then.

?Not only a Finch waiting on tables but one in the courthouse lawing for niggers!?

I immediately became still. She continued on as I tried to shut it out. My blood was beginning to boil. I contained myself, I was known for being able to control my ?slowfuse? temper and myself.

??. goes against his raising? I?ll tell you!? She began to drool. Her bony, ugly, deteriorating fingers went to her mouth to try to stop it. " Your father?s no better than the niggers and trash he works for."

I think for that second, my heart stopped. Scout nearly cut off the circulation in my hand. I let all the anger build up inside of me as I grabbed Scout and continued to town. She kept looking up at me with a confused, horrified look on her face. I kept on moving.

We got to town and I bought the steam engine I had been wanting. I did not really care, just tossed it in my pocket like a gum wrapper. We went by Elmore?s for Scout?s baton that she had been longing for. I could not think of anything. I was not mentally there. I don?t think any part of me was there, except my body.

As we were passing Mrs. Dubose?s empty porch and gate, I lost it. With as much force as I could I yanked Scout?s baton from her and ran wildly up the wicked lady?s steps into her yard forgetting everything I knew. There was not a thought in my mind about what Atticus had taught me about being a gentleman, or the kind of pistol Mrs. Dubose carried in her shawl.

I did not stop until I had cut the top off every sickeningly beautiful camellia bush the old hag owned. As the ground collected green buds and leaves, I bent and cracked Scout?s baton in half on my knee. She was wailing after that, so like the mad man I was being I grabbed her by the hair and told her if she did not shut up I would pull it all out of her head. She did not cease, so I kicked her so she fell on her face. I helped her up as gently as I could but even that was hard. Hurting her was the only thing I regretted out of my entire episode.

We continued home as not even a small hint of regret, guilt, sorrow, or sympathy went through my head. When we got inside, it seemed as if Calpurnia knew exactly what had happened. I sat numb, neither Scout nor I making the choice to meet Atticus that day. She tried to cheer me up, saying I looked like a famous football player. At the time, not even Scout could cheer me up.

It seemed like a millennium before Atticus came home. I did not even look up when I heard the sound of his shoes on the steps or the screen door slam. He called my name, with a hint of calmness and much disappointment. Scout sat in the room, with a look of terror on her face.
Atticus did not say much, except to go right away and talk to Mrs. Dubose about what I had done. I was not angry, or scared as I let the screen door slam. Scout gave me a mixed look of sympathy and fright. Inside, I smiled.

I started down the street, ready to tell the biggest lie of my life. I was about to apologize to Mrs. Dubose.

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