Johnny Brown Monologue

The fresh morning air was cool against my face. Father had been gone for a while now, he had been called by his work for some “serious business.” As my sister Aliah, and I played in the pond by our 2 story house, we heard a faint muttering of Father’s pick-up.

Part 1: The hero's name is Antonio Brown. He is a football maniac. He can catch passes with one hand, and he doesn't even need to look. He is a bit of a sore loser, though. He can dish it, but he can't take it. He wears a black shirt, with a pair of yellow pants. Him and the villain did not meet until early 2011. But, boy, they sure do really hate each other.

I kept writing. It was hard, but I could get everything off of my chest. I could explain to people what had happened to me. I could tell my English teacher. It was a little hard, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Greasers didn’t cry.

Twenty years ago Jimmy Wells wanted to meet me at this place twenty years from now. Now he has caught me because he knew I was a thief .

After being escorted by the police to the hospital me and Ponyboy dashed with excitement to Johnny’s room. Before we could get even an inch in the door the doctor stopped us in our tracks. The doctor said “he is dying”. Before I could think I pulled out two-bit's switchblade. I wasn't going to let some punk doctor keep me from seeing my friend. Instead of what I thought the doctor was going to do he let us see Johnny.

"Bye mom!" I yell as I walk out the door on my way to school. My mom reminds

The faint echo of screams. The crunching of leaves under footsteps, getting faster with every exhale. A drum, beating from within. Thoughts clouded with realisation of the truth and the lies which have prevented it from surfacing amongst the chaos. The girls are all frauds! Murderers!

Tom Robinson is dead. It does not have an effect on me, although people do seem impacted by the news. I honestly don’t understand how it is possible to still feel any emotion from these kind of stories, since they happen so often. If the inhabitants of Maycomb reacted like this for every black man charged for a non-existent rape we would never leave the courtroom. The trials are not particularly interesting either, considering most of the black defendants end up dead.

My name is Mayella Ewell. I belong to the lowest of the low amongst the whites in Maycomb. I grew up in a poor family and never received any proper education. The only I have is probably being white. My dad and I want to have a better life, but dad doesn’t want to put any effort into doing so. My mom died when I was young and I became a surrogate wife for my dad. I wish I could have gone to school, but I have to take care of my children. My dad loves to go out and drink for the whole day. When he comes home, he often drunk and this is when he would rape me.

After the incident with Melba and the white man, I am more certain that integration is not going to happen too soon. I have to be influential and teach Melba the right thing, but I don’t know if I have much hope left in me. Without Marissa, Melba’s little soul would have been conjured by evil. Even though things are not looking up, I will keep praying; I know that God will answer my prayers.

I could smell English Leather shaving lotion and stale tobacco, and I wondered foolishly if I would suffocate before they did anything.

I walk into my room and throw my bag carelessly on the floor. I’ll study later. I don’t go to my bed but move over to my window and stand there, not knowing exactly why. I open the windows, and even though it’s the middle of winter, the cold wind is most welcome here. I feel my hair blowing around my face and I know it’s going to get impossibly tangled but I don’t care. My lips are dry and too thin top isn’t doing much to keep me warm but I still don’t care. I’m not really sure where my thoughts are taking me but I’m already gone.

The rain had just stopped pouring, and we had all gathered in a park nearby, as a makeshift memorial for Johnny. It wasn’t really a funeral, we didn’t have the budget for that, and it wasn’t like his parents cared enough to give him a proper goodbye.

Montanan at that time. From what I know about Alfred, at one time he had

“You know it won't bring him back,” Wallace, Code Name: Papa Bear, pointed out. Of course, he's the only person in the world that would dare say that to her now, but he's always been different. Deadly in a professional capacity only, he was efficient back in the day, and better with information extraction than anyone she'd known.