The weather in Maycomb at this time of the year was especially bad. As soon as Atticus wiped away the glassy beads of sweat, more cultivated. Flies swooned lazily in the heavy air, the tin roofs scorched in the summer heat and the sun beat down upon the inhabitants of Maycomb, unforgiving and relentless. The nib pen was slick in his hands and despite how hard he tried to write this report, his mind wandered to the most mundane things. The abrasive surface of the table, the shadows of the swaying trees and even the tiny granules of dirt under his nails.
"It must be the heat" he thought shaking his head at the idea. How could a respectable lawyer like him wilt under a mere spell of hot weather?

Atticus Finch was the bachelor of the town. No he wasn't necessarily a "ladies man" nor was he a hermit. He was simply a man who "got started late" as he liked to put it. Month after month, superfluous ladies flaunted their congealed faces and hourglass figured in front of him and Atticus, being a gentleman, politely guided them out and resumed his daily routine. Atticus had always been a hard worker. Completing the task in the most efficient and safe way, had been his constant rule. This rule had always lead him to success. He wasn't the child to shut himself up in his room and relentlessly study, nor did he spend his days playing football and getting into fights. Atticus believed in learning and understanding at the same time. Why waste away precious school time mucking around in class when you could be learning the set work and excelling? Therefore Atticus spent most of his childhood hunting around for hobbies to begin and hopefully excel at. It was for this reason that Atticus became an expert marksman.

"One-shot Finch." Atticus smiled at his childhood nickname. Casting his head back, he reminisced of the days when he would hold his breath for minutes, quelling any noise, edging his rifle forward, inch by inch and finally pulling that trigger and hearing the resounding clap and hopefully the soft thud. Just so he could get that one Bluejay. That overwhelming feeling of elation when he walked back through the Main road carrying his booty, enjoying the impressed and marvelling looks that were being showered upon him. It was his expert skill that got him the name "One-shot Finch." But those days were long gone and that Atticus had faded away into the Maycomb history books.

He wasn't particularly good looking (despite what Ms. Maudie told him), with his tortoise shell spectacles, slightly hunched figure and receding hairline. However none of these things mattered the slightest to Atticus. Being a lawyer wasn't what he loved, it was the heroic feeling of doing some good, serving out justice to those who needed it, it was bringing families together and locking the villains away. He therefore immersed himself into his work, delving deeper into the law books and undertaking every trial to the best of his ability. It was for this reason that Atticus became the best lawyer in Maycomb county.

Today however, Atticus found he couldn't concentrate. Whether it was the sweltering heat, the monotonous trial or even Ms. Maudie's awful singing. Something wasn't clicking in his mind. Unable to bear it any longer, Atticus swung open the screen door and gazed impassively across the neighbourhood

Maycomb. The name itself spoke of papery old tattlers and wheezing old men surrounded by wilting camellias. Maycomb hadn't changed since Atticus was born (except maybe the Great Depression), the summers were severe and the winters were glacial. Maycomb had nothing to offer and nothing to collect and yet its population was one of the largest in the state. The days followed a steady routine, Ms Maudie watering her plethora of flowers, Mr Radley commencing his daily walk, the occasional car kicking up a cloud of dust, the children joyously skipping to school and the workers trudging miserably off to another new day. Despite its wearisome and recurring cycle, Maycomb seemed to suit Atticus.

Suddenly, the rutted spluttering of a bus reached Atticus' ears, disrupting the silence. He was woken from his reverie. Atticus squinted and a small from marred his brow as he saw the Town bus bounce up the road, kicking up a flurry of dust. The bus never came this far into the neighbourhood? Obviously someone payed the driver to come up this far. Nevertheless Atticus was interested to see, the neighbours seemed to have the same idea. Who was this person who managed to bribe the driver! (in Maycomb its unheard of) Atticus took a few steps forward when suddenly the bus screeched to an abrupt halt. There was amicable chatting when a woman stepped out

Atticus' eyes widened.