Atticus Monologue To Kill A Mockingbird

It seems that in me, has arisen a compelling feeling to express my thoughts towards that night, the sultry summer of August 26, 1935. I remember I was cleaning my fingernails with the pocketknife my father had passed down to me as folks were making their way to their seats. In the main courtroom, my people were settling and above us in the balcony, sat the Negros; it was ironic having to look up to them. I smiled to myself, that is, until my eyes laid upon Atticus’s children making their way to seats offered to them up there. A distasteful taste formed in my mouth and I turned away, my eyes falling on their father. He and the black man next to him were sitting, seemingly calm and collected although, you could tell Robinson had a reflection
Part of me felt sorry for the young lady, I recall her looking very cautious and uneasy, yet had the aloofness of her father. She started to cry and panic but grew the poise to describe herself fighting against Tom. It was tragicomic to see her take offense of Atticus referring to her as “ma’am”, it made everyone truly grasp how the Ewell’s thought and their limited courtesy. Atticus’s questions painted a gloomy and melancholy picture of the Ewell’s day-to-day life as he revealed genuine depth in this case more than the crime of rape itself. The home life of lonesome Mayella and her drunken abusive father, in addition to their all around poor circumstances, were tribulations that she had to deal with everyday. Feelings of unrest hindered me from resting my eyes and wind blew in my stomach. Mayella often saw Tom and asked him to do tasks for her… I guess that’s the closest thing she had to a friendship. It is profound how one companion can bring an uneasy heart great relief, how the opposite can nurture desolation. There was a point where Atticus fired questions at her and she replied to none. He asked that if she did scream, why did no one hear? Unless she only started when she saw her father at the window… Was it him that beat her up? It was unusual for me to see Atticus fired up and not his usual composed self. I could see that after, it had really pained him to do so as he didn’t look up for a while. He was so hungry for the truth, for a speck of vulnerability and pure honesty from Mayella, however he was like a bird in a nest squeaking for a mother that was not there. Perhaps it was the conditioning of being an Ewell and all her years of solitude that had blinded her to seeing the benevolence in Atticus. Mayella shutdown and refused to answer any further