Quote from Page 8.
"The Radley Place jutted into a sharp curve beyond our house. Walking
south, one faces its porch; the sidewalk turned and ran beside the lot. The
house was low, was once white with a deep front porch and green shutters,
but had long ago darkened to the color of the slate-gray yard around it.
Rain-rotted shingles dropped over the eaves of the veranda; oak trees kept
the sun away. The remains of a picket drunkenly guarded the yard - a
"swept" yard that was never swept - where Johnson grass and rabbit-tobacco
grew in abundance."
Mr. Arthur "Boo" Radley
With ever step that is taken throughout my loved macabre house, a creak is heard. A simple creak from just one of the many rotted floorboards that cover the inside of my home. My home.my home is my life. Yes, it isn't a happy life for me; I'm safe but sadly and utterly alone. If I glare around me I can see just as well a bat in the dark; the rooms hold no color, no life, but in that way it is but a mere metaphor of who I am. I gazed down silently at my hands; they were colorless, lifeless, and pale as the whitest snow. When I stepped out into that icy weather just a few months ago I must have been like a chameleon attached to a tree. Blending into the snow as if we were one, the way the chameleon would do to the lush, green leaves. The chameleon is the lucky one though. Green is better than white, or black.I thought as a panned across the darkened, eerie room and remembered. When I was young my new, opaque eyes would have to uneasily adjust whenever I entered the dark, it's the same way now but reversed, I couldn't take a step into the light even if I put all my courage and bravery into it. I can watch it still though. A mildewed window surrounded by the faded green wallpaper lies in the front of my house, as my only window to see the outside world. I could easily stay in front of it day in and day out, seated in an old wooden chair that timidly rocked back and forth whenever my weight gently shifted in it. There I sat and watched, past my rotted porch posts, and through my dead shaded yard, there is a warm loving community. A neighborhood. My neighborhood. A beautiful woman sits out happily in her sun filled garden, to water her even more beautiful flowers, as her closest neighbor strolls along the cracked cemented street to speak to the others. I watched them, yet to others it may seem to be silently stalking them with my sensitive, cold eyes. But they were all like family to me, and you can always trust family. There were two young children that I enjoyed the most to see though, a young boy and an even younger girl with short, crisp brown hair. I wondered at times, when I saw them standing completely still across the street, looking dazed and confused at my house, well, I wondered if they ever knew that at that same time I was sitting, looking just as confused right back at them. It was highly doubtful, but a possibility. So, until that sudden realization crosses them, I'll just merrily sit here in wonder, in the dark, with an awkward smile across my face. Perhaps, one day, I will meet them. Perhaps, one day, I will have a reason to come out.
Mr. Arthur "Boo" Radley
With ever step that is taken throughout my loved macabre house, a creak is heard. A simple creak from just one of the many rotted floorboards that cover the inside of my home. My home.my home is my life. Yes, it isn't a happy life for me; I'm safe but sadly and utterly alone. If I glare around me I can see just as well a bat in the dark; the rooms hold no color, no life, but in that way it is but a mere metaphor of who I am. I gazed down silently at my hands; they were colorless, lifeless, and pale as the whitest snow. When I stepped out into that icy weather just a few months ago I must have been like a chameleon attached to a tree. Blending into the snow as if we were one, the way the chameleon would do to the lush, green leaves. The chameleon is the lucky one though. Green is better than white, or black.I thought as a panned across the darkened, eerie room and remembered. When I was young my new, opaque eyes would have to uneasily adjust whenever I entered the dark, it's the same way now but reversed, I couldn't take a step into the light even if I put all my courage and bravery into it. I can watch it still though. A mildewed window surrounded by the faded green wallpaper lies in the front of my house, as my only window to see the outside world. I could easily stay in front of it day in and day out, seated in an old wooden chair that timidly rocked back and forth whenever my weight gently shifted in it. There I sat and watched, past my rotted porch posts, and through my dead shaded yard, there is a warm loving community. A neighborhood. My neighborhood. A beautiful woman sits out happily in her sun filled garden, to water her even more beautiful flowers, as her closest neighbor strolls along the cracked cemented street to speak to the others. I watched them, yet to others it may seem to be silently stalking them with my sensitive, cold eyes. But they were all like family to me, and you can always trust family. There were two young children that I enjoyed the most to see though, a young boy and an even younger girl with short, crisp brown hair. I wondered at times, when I saw them standing completely still across the street, looking dazed and confused at my house, well, I wondered if they ever knew that at that same time I was sitting, looking just as confused right back at them. It was highly doubtful, but a possibility. So, until that sudden realization crosses them, I'll just merrily sit here in wonder, in the dark, with an awkward smile across my face. Perhaps, one day, I will meet them. Perhaps, one day, I will have a reason to come out.