The Joy that Kills

Yelwasli

Louise and I were closer than most sisters. I think what made us closer was when she was ill and started having heart problems. That’s when our bond grew stronger.

I see Richards, Louise’s husband’s friend, pacing quickly towards me as I was on my way to work. By the look on his face, I quickly knew he came bearing bad news. I had no clue what to expect as a million thoughts rushed through my mind. He tells me that Brently Mallard, Louise’s husband, was leading the list of “killed” in a railroad disaster. He didn’t even believe it so he double checked with a second telegram and this time was certain. I blanked out for a second and then couldn’t help but think if Louise would be happy or sad. I wanted to believe my sister was happy in her marriage but I thought otherwise.

As Richards and I head over to Louise’s house nervously, he tells me that Brently thought his wife was unhappy. I was even more concerned and that made me believe my first instincts. Finally, we arrive at Louise’s house. I can smell the fear as she sees me and Richards walk towards her, together, which was odd. The first question she asked was “Is Brently alright?”, although she was certain of the answer. I began by saying “There’ been an accident…” and she cut me off, screaming and weeping wildly. She thrust herself into my arms and I felt her heart on my chest, beating rapidly.

Before I can even comfort her, she escapes from my hold and run away, into her room and slams the door and locks it. Richard says to me “Give her some time to let it sink in.” I was stunned, so Richards gently sat me down in the living room chair. It took every ounce of power in me not to go after my sister because I knew she needed to be alone. I cannot control my thoughts that were jumbled in my mind. I began to think whether i was wrong for believing she would be happy, or I misinterpreted her whole marriage and she actually cared for Brently, judging by her dramatic reaction. Normally, I would think most women do not react right away, as they are in sudden shock, at this point I don’t know what to think, but all I had to do was wait. We sat there, quietly and awkwardly as we locked eyes a couple times, maybe we were both thinking how quiet it was upstairs. 

A little too quiet. I go upstairs and listen closely through the door as I hear her chanting under her breath “free, free, free!” I thought she had gone mad. I couldn’t help but think that I was right, she didn’t love her husband–sometimes, but her marriage was not that of a good one for sure. It had seemed that my sister was locked away in a whole other space and I could not get to her. Even though the only barrier between us was the door, it felt more than that, and I had no access to what was going on.

I thought that Louise would need a shoulder to cry on, because she always came to me when she was upset, maybe she wasn’t upset for some reason. It’s almost been an hour and I could not take it anymore. I pressed my lips against the key hole and demanded entrance. “Louise, open the door!” I begged. “Open the door- you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heavens sake open the door.” “Go away I am not making myself ill” she yelled. I heard her rise from where she was and turned the door knob. I rushed to her aid. She seemed relaxed and carried herself like a Goddess of Victory. She held my waist as I helped her down the stairs. Richards stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting to be of assistance to Louise. I hear the front door being unlocked and wondered who that could be. It was a confused Brently Mallard, who was supposedly dead. He looked like he had no clue of what happened and was far away from the scene of the accident. It all happened so quickly as Richards reacts to this by screening him from the view of his wife. But, it was too late. When the doctors arrived, they said she had died of heart disease—of the joy that kills.

 In the story, “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin, the kind of narrative being used is third-limited narrator. “Story Of An Hour” was written in 1894, and in that time period women had no power and were restricted. They could not give any opinions and their feelings didn’t matter. Some women were “trapped” in their marriage by force. This short story is about a woman named Mrs. Mallard, who receives bad news that her husband had died in a railroad accident. They tell her the news slowly but surely, and she weeps about it then goes into her room and locks herself away. She begins to realize that this so called bad thing isn’t that bad at all, but granted her freedom that she never thought she would get. She starts looking forward to the future instead of dreading it. When Mrs. Mallard fi

I’m Her Sister Josephine

Danny Meneses

I’m her sister Josephine; I’m the one who told her about the accident that has just occurred on the railroad. My sister’s friend Richard was here too. He informed me. My sister’s husband Brently Mallard’s was headed to the train, yet no call, all I can do is worry. She did not hear of the story the way others have, it was I her sister, closest to her who had to find a way to break the news to her. She wept once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in my arms. She then pushed me away would have no one follow her. I couldn’t believe this; I felt like I have brought down her whole world and had no way to bring her back. I don’t regret what said, I regret the way that I told her, I did it without thinking. None of this would have occurred if I hadn’t acted so recklessly.

My sister just stood there facing the open window, on a comfortable, roomy armchair,pressed down by the physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. I didn’t know of what she was thinking, and I was worried of how she may act. The only thing I could think of is the fact that my sister is hurting, and I had no way to save her. This killed me. All of a sudden she got up with a face of no emotion walked to the room and locked the door behind her. From the other window looking in I could see what she did. There were patches of blue sky showing through the clouds facing her window, all my sister seemed to be able to do was sit with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, she didn’t need to speak, the emotion she showed was that of one already dead. I felt so horrible for causing this, I wanted to fix things but she was too far gone.

My sister is young, with a calm face, smiles, and always had life in her eyes. Now there was a dull stare in her eyes? There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully.  But she felt, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, and the color that filled the air. As all these things went through my mind, all I could think of is what is she thinking? What will she do? Unexpectedly she let out a slight movement, not able to be understood. All of a sudden she opens the window and I hear “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again! “The look of terror that had followed it went from her eye. I was terrified; I wasn’t able to comprehend what was happening. I feared for my sister, she was beginning to become delusional, I ran to the door and tried to open the door, I pleaded for her to open. I hear her get close, I hear her breathing and then all when quiet I hear her by the door  uttering words not able to be understood. I ask what? She repeats with an understandable tone “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again”. A few minutes later she opens the door with a pale white look, cold as ice as I put my arms round her. Those around including me did not stop to ask her if she was okay, that question was clearing answered. She wept again, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked the same after I told her the news of her husband.

My sister’s face showed noting but gray and death. She spread her arms out to them in welcome; this confused me because she hugged herself and said “I’m back” I realized what that meant. My sister became what seems to be “crazy” then after uttering the words “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again” Repeatedly that was when it hit me; she had been trapped in her marriage for so long, never really free to be her true self, bounded by the marriage she voluntarily agreed too, and trapped from the love she used to have. She doesn’t know how to be free, the realization that now she really is scares her.  I was kneeled before her, I saw her with her lips so blue, eyes so clear, I tried to hug her but she wasn’t allowing anyone to come in. My sister finally responds after what felt like forever of pleading for her to say something, when she did she said “Go away” I feared for my sister, I was mad at myself for what I done, I should have waited and spoken to her in a more delicate manner, instead of dumping the load all at once. There was a feverish look to her, my sister clasped in my arms, I picked her up and help her down the stairs.

Richard stood waiting for us at the bottom. Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was my sister’s husband who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grips-sack umbrella. He had apparently been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at my piercing cry. He helped me take my sister to the room, the rest followed. He laid her down. We both left to talk about what happen, and I to explain all that happened. After a few minutes we both came back in, I hugged me sister, said I’m so very sorry for hurting her like this I shouldn’t have told her the news in the manner the that I did. She gave me her hand pointed for me to come close; as I did she whispered the words “Thank you, you freed me”.

Story of an hour is a about a woman named Mrs. Mallard who finds out from her sister Josephine about a terrible accident .Her husband Mr. Mallard may have been a part of involved a train crash, not many survivors. Throughout the story you get an idea to what the narrator is thinking but you aren’t completely sure. When reading the story I feel like the reader was someone outside looking in through the “window” telling us what is going on. The narration of the story is third person limited. Third person limited is the point of view in a method of storytelling in which the narrator knows only the thoughts and feelings of a single character while other characters are presented only externally. Third person limited grants a writer more freedom than first person, but less than third person omniscient. So throughout the story you are able to see how people feel about all that is going but you can’t get a good idea of whom is it.

Following the news of the accident Josephine feels that she needs to tell Mrs. Mallard of what has just occurred. She knew that Mrs. Mallard had heart problems. Telling her such news would nearly kill her. Ironically that is exactly what happens but not in the way the reader has lead us to believe. Upon reading the story one is lead to believe that once hearing the news of her “late husband” she would die due to a heart attack or anxiety attack. Yet Mrs. Mallard didn’t react exactly how we thought. She was feeling down but more “happy” then sad. She felt free, apparently she had been feeling trapped throughout her marriage. Now notified of the possible death of Mr. Mallard she couldn’t help but feel joy and sadness all at once. She began to lash out, act “crazy” she locked herself in the room and wouldn’t speak right when talking. She made it hard to understand what she was saying.

I used the narration and how the story was structured to change the narration, and transition to what turned out to be a “new” story. I used first person limited to change narration. I kept the same idea to what was going on, and how the story itself is in general, but what I did change was how the reader can perceive the story. Instead of getting a glimpse to the story from the outside in, I gave the reader the opportunity to actually be inside the mind of a character, in this case I choice Josephine.

The plot line to this version of the story is the same accident that may or may not have caused the death of Mr. Mallard, but now  Josephine tells Mrs. Mallard of the news.. I made it so that we feel the guilt she felt after she told the news, and the tremendous pressure she felt just before she notified her of the news. Mrs. Mallard didn’t know how to react; she was there but not there at the same time. She felt so much pressure lifted off her shoulders. She was sad and horrified about what has just happened. “I her sister, closest to her who had to find a way too break the news to her. She wept once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in my arms. She then pushed me away would have no one follow her. I couldn’t believe this; I felt like I have brought down her whole world and had no way to bring her back. I don’t regret what said, I regret the way that I told her, I did it without thinking. None of this would have occurred if I hadn’t acted so recklessly”. You are able to see how she feels. Mrs. Mallard began lashing out in ways not imagined, it seemed like she was not only delusional but also possessed by the sprit she lost when married.“She was battling within herself, about herself. She lost who she was, now she lost who she is. She let out a slight movement, not able to be understood. All of a sudden she opens the window and I hear “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again! “The look of terror that had followed it went from her eye. I was terrified; I wasn’t able to comprehend what was happening. I feared for my sister, she was beginning to become delusional”  Mrs. Mallard very much like the first story exiled herself from the rest. Very much like the original story upon seeing her husband alive walking through that door to everyone’s dismay they thought they were looking at a ghost.

Mrs. Mallard died peacefully in this “alternate ending” of story of an hour. I wanted Josephine to not feel guilt for thinking she caused her sister’s death. She died in bed. I as the reader feel like not only did Mrs. Mallard die in peace along with giving everyone around relief that she doesn’t have to suffer anymore, but also that she died being herself again and happy. . “He laid her down. We both left to talk about what happen, and I to explain all that happened. After a few minutes we both came back in, I hugged me sister, said I’m so very sorry for hurting her like this I shouldn’t have told her the news in the manner the that I did. She gave me her hand pointed for me to come close; as I did she whisperedthe words “Thank you, you freed me.”