Voice from Heaven

The people in Maycomb do not know me.
They do not understand me.
They either hate me or are scared of me.
Just like that boy, Cecil Jacobs, always walking out of his way to get home, just so that he could avoid me if I'm out in the front porch.
Or even like the two Finch kids, trying all means to get as far away from me as possible when passing by my house. As if I won't be able to see them if they walk across the street. My eyesight wasn't that bad yet despite my age.
The older one had even cut my precious camellias just to take revenge!
All these people hate me because of the things I say.
I admit my mistake, but I can' help it.
It's the drug.
It's the morphine precribed to numb my pain.
I don't need it.
I don't want to be like all those weak people who wishes to die painlessly.
I'd rather die beholden to nothing!
... At least Atticus understood me.
He knew what I was going through and even sent Jem to help me.