Not a Mockingbird No More
Name's Tom Robinson - a colored man, a Negro, or best 'nigger' as most of 'em white folks call me. That way I ain't name bound, less an individual. I been falsely 'cused of rapin' a white woman, Miss Mayella Ewell, when I done nothin' like it that November evenin'... I shoulda not pitied her, shoulda not helped with the first chiffarobe. Now I'm in a hell hole.
I ain't keepin' track of time, but my spirits been down an' depressed. I been away too long from my Helen an' chillun too, I miss 'em but I don't think even God can save me now. I'm locked in a rough prison with other crims, and them guards be pushin' me 'round for my velvet black skin... It ain't right, I'm innocent an' doing all these prison activities and bein' yelled at.
My lawyer, Atticus Finch, he believes me. I be appreciatin' him for defending me, I was cryin' at how much a white folk like him cared... I don't believe him though, he says if I wait long 'nough here in this jail the higher powered people be appeal me innocent an' let me return to my family 'gain. Them Ewells woulda been charged for lyin' an' all that... I don't believe him, 'cept that I'm like this Mockingbird.
A night behind them bars with Atticus, he be sayin' it's a sin to kill Mockingbirds. He says that 'cause Mockingbirds don't do no nothin' but sing for us. An' killin' one is a waste of life, 'cause the bird don't deserve bein' dead before its s'posse to die. It only did good. He says I'm in that same situation', that he be makin' sure I won't die in the end s'long I stay safe an' obey 'em. I says 'I promise suh, try my best.'
I can't take any longer in this prison though. It's real miserable here... I still miss my Sam an' the other chillun', Helen...
It's durin' exercise period I decide to make my escape, I be movin' before thinkin', runnin' fast an' mad as I can to the gate. Faster than the speed of time, nearly fast as my racin' heart. I hear shootin', cheerin', them guards warnin' me to get back down or they shoot as I'm climbin' up the fence. If only my left arm were good, I'd be outta here.
Split-second too late, I'mma scapin' Negro only bulleted seventeen times. Not Tom Robinson, not a Mockingbird no more.
I'm now a Maycomb-African American gaurdian angel watching over my family, I can protect them now but can't tell them good-bye and that I'm sorry.
disclaimer: plot & char derived from To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Would've gotten full points for this Reflective Self-Creative Assignment back in September/October 2009, if I included a justification. ):