A journal response to Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird from Scout's perspective

Dear Journal,

Summer is over now, and I am old enough to enter the school, which my brother Jem is in. At first, I was looking forward to get into a school, but after my first at school, I start dislike school. I guess the main reason is my teacher, Miss Caroline. She tried to prevent me from learning by myself, and telling me not to write before grade three. Miss Caroline is new to Maycomb County, so it is not surprised when she forced Walter Cunningham to take her quarter for lunch. The one thing that I can’t quite understand is that when I explained that the Cunningham never took anything they can’t pay back to Miss Caroline, and she picked up a ruler, gave me several quick pats, then told me to stand in the corner. I don’t think I did anything out of order.

After the first day of school, I really miss what happened during the summer where Jem, Dill, and I were playing around together. To be honest, the only thing I remember clearly from summer is the time when Dill persuaded Jem to touch the Radley’s house, and Jem was freaked out of his mind. After all, Jem still did it and we dashed back to our home as if Boo would come to us. Well, we have never known anything in detail about the Radley since Atticus doesn’t want to talk about it.

Maybe I shouldn’t write that much in my journal since Miss Caroline doesn’t like it, but who cares. I’m still going to copy out a chapter from the Bible, in order to get an open-faced sandwich of bread with butter and sugar from Culpurnia.

The Candle

The candle

(A poetic response to “the metaphor” by Budge Wilson)

Candle,

Something can live forever,

Somehow, it chooses to light up itself.

The light is warm,

Soft,

But is also attracting.

Everything around is lighten by this tiny candle,

Everything around enjoys the light,

And the candle is happy even though it is burning itself.

The candle,

Keep burning,

Thinking that everything enjoys the light.

The light is still warm,

Soft,

But it is repetitive.

Not everything likes to be lighten up,

Not everything cherishes the light,

And the candle shines itself for nothing.

The candle,

Becomes smaller,

And it starts crying.

Nobody understands it,

And nobody cares about it.

The wind blows,

And the last bit of flame has been snubbed out.

Now there it stands alone,

The remaining of that candle.

The name of that flower

The name of that flower

(a poetic response to "Sound of Hollyhocks"by H. Garner)

Those lovely flowers

Blossom in the summer

They are familiar like an old friend of me

But I don’t know their names

They are dancing in the wind

They are singing in the wind

Seems like nothing has bothered them

I turn my back to them and decide to walk away

Then they call me

They sound like the first time you talked to me

Those withered flowers

Dead after the summer

They are unfamiliar like a stranger

But I know who they are

They are swaying in the wind

They are sighing in the wind

Seems like their lives have come to an end

I walk toward them and stare at them

Then I see you

Like the last time I saw you

Hanging in the room

Hopeless and painful

Just like this

You have vanished from this world

Passed away like those dead flowers

I keep watching at them

Thinking about one thing

What is the name of that flower?