Month: February 2015

In chapter 16 Harper Lee explores in greater depth the social intricacies of Maycomb county and its inhabitants through Scout’s tireless inquisition. The theme of tradition and the history of the land is elaborated on, especially within the Cunningham bloodline, who which according to Alexandra Finch are “respectable” due to the amount of time they have dwelled on the plot of land. Another example of identity belonging very much to attributes which are not related to conduct, personality or appearance is seen in Mr. X Billups, who’s parents were illiterate and through circumstance ended up giving him his peculiar name. This shows that personal identity is something very much lost in Maycomb, with people more concerned in preserving or living up to predisposed expectations conotated upon them by their surnames.

I was awoken by the searing pain of the ground pressed against my cheek. Quickly I arose. My feet failed me as I collapsed once again toward the ground as it gave way for me. It was after this I realised it was not the sole fault of my limbs that I had once again reaquainted myself with the earth, but that the earth itself had taken a degree of the blame. I was currently kneeling atop a dune of sand.

I caught a handful of grains to affirm this, the sand burned against my dry hands falling back whence it came. I squinted, permitting small cautious steps as I turned to inspect my surroundings to which alarmingly had very little to inspect; I remarked that I might as well stand atop any of these dunes as I would observe the exact same thing, oceans of sand stretching further than my eyes cared to glance and my legs cares to venture.

I tried my hardest to traverse the dune elegantly but found myself sliding rather than walking to its base. I squinted ahead of me, deciding that since I had no recollection of how I got here every direction held an equal chance of salvation, or indeed an equal chance of hopelessness. After scaling my third dune, there was little to mark my infinitesimal progress other than the shallow footprints I had left in my wake, my mind could muse only on how magnificently barren this aureate  wasteland was, and how much longer I could endure it. Beneath my feet there were no signs of life, no cacti, no insects nor desert foxes nor armadillos nor vultures harbinging my inevitable doom. Nothing. Nothing but me and a seabed lacking in a sea to provide for it.

This desert was distinctly prosaic, it shaped itself like a child trying to shape icing on a cake, however it now suddenly felt as it the candles had been lit. The disheartening symmetry of this sand prison seemed to have kept me in a feverish stupor, something I was dispelled from as I choked on the dry air; the signet of the midday sun. It had begun to feel as if the scorching flames were not only being toted upon my shoulders, but shone below me also, as if I was traversing a desert of mirrors the size of sand grains.

I felt the weight of my body as I trudged through the thick air that snaked around my visage, convecting in the midday sun. I felt the ground beneath me clinging to my footsteps, claiming what it knew was soon to be part of it. I had forgiven the desert for being so stark, I could not think of a single creature that would wish to share in this burning embrace. My legs once again failed me, and my eyes followed them. I admired the dazzling orange of the sun as it screamed at me from behind my eyelids, and its glow faded to black.

I awoke to a comparative haven of hospitality; the ground beneath me no longer burned, but kept a modest heat from the sun that had once tried to turn these lands into glass oceans. My eyes needed not to squint at I stared up at the sky now dyed fuchsia and midnight purple, the sun no longer bellowed its deafening roar but instead the night filled itself with another sound entirely; chirps of insects that sounded like crickets echoed between the basins of sand and the rustlings of animals filled me with hope. And the idea that I was not entirely alone inside the hourglass I have been confined to invigorated me, and made me resolute in surviving the sun’s return. I sat upright, retreating my hand toward my chest as I felt the tickle of an insect march across it, going about its business unmindfully. As I reinspected my surroundings, the once desolate desert had come to life now that the sands had become less punishing; ants patrolled their quarters, woodpeckers flittered overhead, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, a silhouette of a ferret like creature could be made out in the distance clawing at the sand in search of something. The clicks and cries and scurries and chatters of the animals flowed amongst the amber valleys, filling the night air with life and my heart with promise of leaving this place.