By Molly Pfefferkorn

Baumann Red Class

Based on To Kill A Mockingbird

By Harper Lee

Life. It moves in mysterious ways. My life began a long, long time ago,

when I was born. However, one could also say that my life began when

I looked out my window one day and, for the first time, noticed two

little children walking on the sidewalk right outside of my house. The

little boy and girl looked alike, and I decided that they must be sib-

lings. It then occurred to me that these youngsters bore striking re-

semblance to the man who lives next door, the one who wears glasses

and reads on the porch a lot; these must be his children. I looked at

the little girl first and noticed that she was wearing overalls. “Must

be a tomboy,” I thought to myself. “A little spitfire, that one is. Bet

she’s smart, too.” I then looked at her older brother. He looked to be

about eleven years old, well-built, and closely resembled his father.

Eleven years old… it only occurred to me later that I myself was

eleven years old when the insanity began…

I was eleven when the insanity began. I mean, I guess it begun before I was

eleven, but it only started to become apparent to me when I attained that age.

My father didn’t show that many signs at first, but I could hear him talking to

himself from my bed every night. Later, when I got home from school early one

day, I heard him yelling at someone named Carlton, but when I walked into the

room, he was the only one there. He always was talking to someone or other who

wasn’t there. I knew that there was something wrong with him, that he was go-

ing crazy. His madness is probably the reason he was so abusive towards Ma,

Nate and me. I never did anything wrong, contrary to popular belief. I didn’t do

bad things with those boys; I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, as

they say. People thought that we Radleys withdrew ourselves from society be-

cause of stupid little Arthur’s “incident”, but we were really just trying to hide

the fact that our father had gone stark raving mad. Some nights were worse

than others. I remember crying to sleep every night, still sore from that day’s

bout of diseased-induced beating and rage. Many, many years went by, and my

big brother Nate moved out as quickly as he could. But I never got to leave.

I only go out at nighttime. It’s not that I have anything against the sunlight or the

day. No one is around to stare at me when I go out under the light of the moon. Plus,

nighttime is the only time I’m ever allowed to come out. I’ve done some of my best

exploring at night. One time, I made it all the way down the street, to the house on

the end. The woman who lives there keeps really nice camellias, which glisten in the

moonlight. There is one lawn that I have to step very carefully around the flowers,

as the woman who lives there is very defensive when it comes to her garden, from

what I gather. One time, I accidentally woke someone up in another house down the

street. She was very pretty. The house next door belongs to the man with the glass-

es and his two children. I thought to myself one night, “They’re such nice neighbors.

I wish I could be friends with them.” I thought back to something my mother once

told me: neighbors give each other things simply out of kindness. But what could I

give to them? Suddenly, it hit me. I raced back to the house, but quietly, so I didn’t

wake anyone up. Out of the stash under my bed, I pulled out the two indian pennies I

had gotten when I was younger, the ones I were saving for a special occasion. I de-

cided that the opportunity to make new friends was special enough for me. The next

day, I looked outside to see the two kids looking in the knothole, surprised at its

contents. I had found my friends.

One time, while watching the kids, I heard the second little boy, say in a

loud voice, “The elusive Boo Radley!”

“Boo Radley,” I thought, “Who’s he? “ As far as I knew, we didn’t have any-

one in our family named Boo. I kept listening, all the while wondering what

this “Boo Radley” was like. As far as I could tell, he was horrifyingly scary,

and ate dead things, and was out to get the rest of Maycomb. I shuddered.

I hoped I didn’t run into him anytime soon. It appeared that the siblings got

into an argument about something. The boy pushed the girl into a tire, and

he rolled her down the hill, with her screaming the entire way. As I heard

her shrieks, it hit me: Boo Radley, the recluse; Boo Radley, who never comes

out of his house; Boo Radley, who stabbed his father with scissors. I was

Boo Radley, the most feared man in Maycomb! I found myself laughing so

hard, I couldn’t stop. I continued to laugh when the girl got to the bottom

of the hill. She got out of the tire, and looked in my direction. I think she

saw me.

I remember my brother Nate. He was a nice sort of fellow, respectable and that sort of thing. He

wasn’t bad to me; he understood what I had gone through as a child. He knew what it was like to have

my father. He brought me whatever I needed: soap, food, necessities. He even, on occasion, brought

me what I loved the most: Wrigley’s Double-Mint Gum. I saved it, and limited myself to one piece a

month, so as not to get cavities. Sometimes, I would make little sculptures with the wads of gum I

saved. Just another way to pass the time. However, he wouldn’t let me do the one thing that I need-

ed, more than anything: he wouldn’t let me go outside. He let me out at night on occasion, but he re-

fused to let me see the light of day. He was just protecting me, he assured me. Because of what the

town thought I had done, I would be discriminated against if I ever went outside. For the most part,

Nate was a kind jailer, but a jailer nonetheless.

One time, though, I remember Nate being very upset about something. We heard rustling outside. I

went to my window, and Nate grabbed his gun. He ran outside, and I heard a gunshot. Nate came back

inside, breathing hard. “Some n***** tried to get some of my vegetables! I scared him half to death

with my gun, though. He looked like he turned white with fear!” Later, when things had calmed down,

I slipped out, and walked all over town. I came to a fence. Someone’s ripped pants were hanging by

the metal. I carefully unhooked them, then, using a needle and some thread, I sewed the pants back

together, and carefully placed them on the fence. I heard rustling in the bushes, so I hid behind a

tree, and peered out at the person fast approaching. Lo and behold, it was Jem, the boy from next

door. More importantly, he appeared to be pantless, which solved one mystery. He appeared to be a

bit confused at my sewing job (it wasn’t the neatest), but grabbed the pants and ran off. I hoped he

made it home safely. You never know what you’ll find in the dark.

Over the next few nights, I would sneak out of the house and leave

my new friends something new in the knothole; and every day, I

would watch their reaction. I left them almost everything I had

stashed under the bed (the ball of twine Nate used to pull out my

loose tooth, my track medal, and the old grandfather watch I got

for Christmas one year). Eventually, I had no more tokens to give to

my friends; but I hatched a plan. I asked Nate to bring me two

bars of soap and a small knife to carve them. I spent that day carv-

ing them into the forms of Jem and Scout, I was sure that the two

kids would recognize their likenesses.

I had one blanket. It was rather worn and rough, but it was a blanket

nonetheless. Actually, it still is a blanket, but it’s not my blanket any-

more. I lost it on a burning day in winter, but it was very dark. I

woke up to Nate struggling to get outside the house. “There’s a fire

over at Maudie’s, I ‘m going to try to help put it out.” I raced to the

windows. The orange flames licked the sky hungrily. I looked at all

the people gathered outside the burning house, when I noticed my

two kids standing around looking cold. The girl was shivering. Without

thinking about it, I picked up my only blanket and crept out of the

house. I snuck up behind her, and carefully placed the blanket on her

shivering shoulders. I raced inside, and never saw the blanket again.

Of all of the holidays, Halloween is my favorite because, unlike other holidays, Halloween only

takes place at night, when I can come out. I mostly hide in the bushes, or in the occasional

tree, and watch the little kids in their costumes walk along the sidewalk. It’ s fun to pretend to

be trick-or-treating with them. I spend hours debating over what imaginary costume I should

wear, or what types of imaginary candy I will get. One Halloween was different, though. I was

getting ready (I had decided to be a devil this year), when I heard some noises coming from

outside. I looked outside upon a terrible sight. There was a man, a drunk man with what looked

to be a switchblade, assaulting my friends, in particular the boy. The scrap of tinfoil that was

Scout was screaming for her brother, running around like a blind man, with no way of knowing

where she was going because of the dark. I can see in the dark, though. I’ve been outside at

night so many times, it just comes naturally to me; and tonight was no exception. Except, I did-

n’t see Bob Ewell breaking Jem Finch’s arm, I saw my father, in one of his rages, beating me

and breaking my arm. I couldn’t take it anymore, I wasn’t going to sit around and have what

happened to me happen to Jem. I raced into the kitchen, and grabbed the first sharp thing I

saw, a kitchen knife, and, going against everything my brother said about letting people see you,

ran outside to their rescue. This much is true: The man was really angry and flew at me in a

rage. I held the knife out in front of me to protect myself, Jem and Scout. Bob Ewell came

down on top of the kitchen knife, and was impaled. He staggered back, and stumbled to the

ground, dead. Without thinking about the fact that I had just killed a man, I picked up Jem,

took Scout’s hand, and led them both home.

Once inside the Finch residence, where I bestowed the boy into his father’s sur-

prised arms, I went and stood facing the wall, trying to make myself unnoticeable. It

was at that point that the gravity of what I had just done hit me hard. I had just

killed a man. I had just murdered a man that I didn’t even know. I wasn’t any better

than the whole town thought I was. Nate was right; I should’ve just stayed inside. I

was struggling to deal with this burden when the little girl walked in. Her costume

was torn, and she addressed me as Boo. However, Mr. Finch corrected her, saying,

“Mr. Arthur, honey. This is Mr. Arthur Radley.” This made me feel so much better,

knowing that I was in fact, not Boo Radley the infamous recluse, but Arthur Radley,

mostly-law abiding citizen who had friends. I had friends. I was still thinking

about that when the little girl led me back to my house. The way I saw it, I had re-

mained a child for a rather long time, not allowed to grow up and move out of the

house. However, I felt like I had successfully completed my childhood, as I now had

people to call friends. After all, isn’t the most important part of childhood the

friends you make and take with you through life?

The End

This picture really displays all of the personas of Arthur Radley. The child is how Mr. Radley

sees himself, as he is desperately seeking friends, and talks in sort of a childish way. The

monster is how everyone looks at Boo Radley, so Arthur is struggling to deal with this. Arthur

also very much resembles Jem, leading to Arthur feeling empathy for Jem. The blurry man

behind Arthur is how he actually looks; he is blurry because nobody really sees him for who he

is.