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Unforeseen Freedom

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 Unforeseen Freedom

Brian P. Ballie

                Here comes Richard and Josephine I haven’t seen them in quite some time and they are here together. This is truly weird for they have no reason to visit me today. They came wearing grim faces and portraying sad eyes. In my heart I know that something terrible has happened, I wonder if it has anything to do with the terrible ruckus down at the telegraph station today I swear it was like a complete mad house there. Then they start talking and I can barely believe what I am hearing. “Jessica my sister” she says “I there has been a terrible accident on the rail. It has been most disastrous and families have been thrown into turmoil.” “Death has come and we will get through this as best as we can because we are family and that’s what family does” she continued to speak but I had long stopped listening to her and came to the horrible realization that he was gone. DEAD for that is what he is dead and gone according to Robert. My poor Brently taken away from me in a disastrous culmination of steel and fire on that beast of iron he worked on. I am blinded by the grief for my eyes have been bathed in the wetness of my tears and I have nothing else but sorrow in my heart. I now weep for he whom I lost the man that I love.

In a fell swoop it is gone I feel nothing and need to be alone, my room beckons calling me into the peaceful abyss of my abode. Gone is the light for the sky has turned dark with rain as if somehow the gods feeling my sorrow wept with me and have become spent. The darkness that is there is dissipating slowly like the sobs wrecking through my body. In this moment I am truly lost but just as quickly clarity comes to me as the light starts peeking through more and more through the sky. I remember a time when I was happy and young and beautiful, a time when life was so simple. Then I realized that I was free to go back to being that girl. I was no longer tied down to the dead man I was “FREE” truly free and I am going to love it.

Ecstasy has set in and my heart is pounding my realization has thrown me for a loop and I have accepted that I am truly free. I no longer need to worry about pleasing the dead man I have only myself to worry about. Pure happiness has filled my once dreary heart I feel like new life has been breathed into me and it is intoxicating. I feel alive more so than I have felt in a long time. I can hear her out there shouting in riotous anger Josephine my sister asking me to come out and talking to Robert at my conversation but she doesn’t understand, neither does he. They can’t begin to understand the feelings shooting through my very soul.

I have come to a conclusion that I am better because of his death but at the same time I truly loved that man that wonderful kind man who sheltered me through the years where I was his. I will truly miss him and when I see all that is left of him I will weep again but for now I will relish in my freedom. Because even though he was my love, love was not present all the time and I am happy I am not burdened with loving him anymore. There she is again yelling “Open the door Jessica who are you talking to stop these rambling thoughts before you make yourself sick.”  Sick what does she know she is no doctor she is a question bathed in mystery to me has been all my life.

I have had enough of her pleading and I care not for her talking. I open the door and in she rushes taking me by the hand and pulling me downstairs gently like I am made of glass and liable to break any time soon. I see Robert standing in the foyer looking expectantly at me as if I were there to present him with something. Then I hear it the jingling of the lock and the rattle of a key and in swings the door. Standing there is a ghost a ghost of my husband. I look again and see it’s not a ghost but the real thing. Gone is my freedom gone just as quickly as it came. I am no longer free. There is a pain a stabbing pain in my chest. They are all talking I can tell because their mouths are moving whether from shock I know not. All I hear is the clashing of a bell and the chains dragging me back in he’s alive and I am dead.

 

            “She said it over and over under her breath: ‘free, free, free’”  Freedom is one of the major themes in the short story entitled “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin. This story is about a woman’s reaction to the supposed death of her husband. In the original version of this story the narrator is a 3rd person limited narrator. We only have access to some of the thoughts of Mrs. Mallard and what she says while in the room but even that is limited in what we get from it. In my retelling I change it to a first person narrator from the point of view of Mrs. Mallard. I however structured it in the form of an internal monologue. The reality is the narration change drastically changes what we understand about the characters.

The third person narration present in this piece plays a vital role in the development we see of the main character. From this point of view we get to know Mrs. Mallard in a small sense. Learning about her but always wanting more. The limited view of the narrator also takes away from the complete development of the story as we only have a sort of one sided disjointed view into some of what Mrs. Mallard is going through. It paints an image where we know nothing about the people around her.

In regards to the retelling of the same story from the point of view of a different narration style I took several factors into mind before making my decision. At first I thought of doing the story in the style of a third person omniscient narrator; thereby in fluxing a plethora of new information and ideas into the story. However I didn’t feel comfortable changing the story so drastically because in doing so I would have to literally create the bones for the other characters because what we know about them right now is minimal. Then I though how about first person narration from the point of view of Mr. Mallard would change the story. I realized however that there was no precedent for doing that because we know nothing of what happens during the time of the accident to when he comes home and keeping the story respectful to the original plot would lead to too many new ideas that could be conflicting. I finally decided to do a first person narration from the point of view of Mrs. Mallard in the form of a monologue. This I thought would give me enough to be able to tell it from her perspective talking about all those around her because we know what they were doing there but not what she was thinking when she found out about the death of her husband. Also we get to know her and see a lot about her life but not what bought on her thoughts about being free in this way I was able to create a mind for her and tell her feelings as close to what happened as possible. I was also able to tell what she was thinking when her sister comes to get her to leave the room and even what happened in her mind before she died.

The similarities in this story were vast they both followed the same plot line and had the same characters. The general story was essentially the same however that’s about where they stopped and the differences came into light. In the original story Mrs. Mallard is portrayed as a weak person through her sickness. She is seen as someone who can’t handle any sort of hardship in life due to a heart ailment. She at first is grief stricken when news of her husband’s death reaches her. She reacts like anyone who has lost someone dear to them would by breaking down into a tear sobbing mess. However slowly the grief turns to exuberance as she comes to feel happy about the death of Mr. Mallard. In the retelling Mrs. Mallard is seen as a strong willed woman who knows what she wants and is able to make major decisions about her life on her own. She feels grief but is able to quickly quell that and come to the realization that she has her freedom.

In the retelling Mrs. Mallard comes across as a strong and her sickness or lack of as it is not mentioned is almost a metaphor for her sister treating her differently all her life. In the original story we hear Josephine asking Mrs. Mallard to open the door but she doesn’t instead she says “I am not making myself ill” instead that she is “Drinking in a very elixir of life through the open window”. In the retelling we see into the mind of Mrs. Mallard who thinks to herself “There she is again yelling ‘Open the door Jessica who are you talking to stop these rambling thoughts before you make yourself sick.’  Sick what does she know she is no doctor she is a question bathed in mystery to me has been all my life.” Here we see drastically a change because we now know the type of person Mrs. Mallard. We see that she truly doesn’t understand her sister. Also in the retelling we have a true ending when it comes to the character of Mrs. Mallard we get to see her last thought before death in which she says “All I hear is the clashing of a bell and the chains dragging me back in he’s alive and I am dead.” In comparison to the original story where we get to know that she died of a heart ailment in the retelling she dies from the knowledge that she has lost her freedom.

In the end the change of the narrator had a drastic change on the story. In the original narration we have a view looking in on a woman’s reaction to the death of her husband and then finding out that it was indeed false. In this format we get to see the softer side of the woman who loved her husband but also loved her freedom. In the retelling we have a woman’s view of what happens when she finds out about the death of her husband we get to see her intimate thoughts as she is having an internalized dialogue talking about her feelings as well as her reaction to finding out that the death notice was false. Here she is smart and straightforward person she is soft and hard at the same time in that she quickly comes to the decision that her freedom is amazing and she would much rather be free than married to her husband and thus she dies from the shock of losing the gained freedom.

 

The Good Man

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The Good Man

Michael Gurevich

In “Young Goodman Brown” the author uses an omniscient narrative
style to guide the readers through he story.  By selecting a
first-person narrative style, the reader is able to understand the
character on a much deeper level.
The sun was setting but I knew I would have to make my leave.  My
wife, Faith, was reluctant to see me go but I see no her words would
not be enough to make me stay.  I was going for this errand that I
knew was wrong but I was a man of my word so this promise I would have
to keep.  “Dearest heart,” She whispered to me as she pleaded for me
to stay.  She didn’t want me to go, she was too afraid for my safety
and for her own, as well.  She told me she was too fearful of spending
the night alone but I urged her to remain hopeful and to trust in my
words.  She she knew of the journey I was embarking on, she would
probably never look at me as the man she sees me now. I bid her adieu
and went off into the night.  I arrived at the forest on a night that
seemed darker than any other, I felt this was a sign for me to turn
back but I had to keep to my promise, it was only this one time.  As I
walked along the path I saw the shadow of a figure resting on a downed
tree.  He called to me in an upset voice “You are late, Goodman
Brown”.  I chuckled and told him that my wife, Faith, was so worried
that I lost track of time as I was leaving.  This man was dressed
sharply, he didn’t resemble a shadow in the forest but a man who would
likely be respected in all parts of life.  “Come, Goodman Brown!” he
called to me as we went on path. Although he seemed confidant and
controlled, the staff that accompanied him was an uncomfortable sight.
A twisted walking stick that had a pattern to it that resembled a
serpent.  With every step we made I could feel his it slither beside
us.
I was becoming more and more restless as our journey continued.  Not
because of the treacherous path but because of the decisions I made
that night.  For you see, I come from a long line of good Christen
men.  I arrived with the light and I was planning to remain with it
until my dying day.  Tonight, I was planning to descend into the
depths of the earth, straight to the devil’s lair.  As we carried on
through the forest I became confused about my decision and decided I
should trust my gut instinct.  “I’m going back” I told the fellow
traveler.  “I’m going back for Faith’s sake, she needs me”.  In
response, the traveler offered me his staff as though my troubles were
merely physical.  I declined his offer and decided not to argue with
him but to keep on with my promise and follow him through the path.
The traveler told me that he must take off but that he would leave his
walking stick with me in case I needed it to complete the trip.  As he
disappeared into the darkness I heard the voice of my beautiful Faith.
“Faith!” I cried, as I stood up and lunged forward into the forest.
I didn’t know in which direction to go so I trust my heart to guide
me.  Running forward I felt a strong force pulling me, as if the
serpent has come alive within the traveler’s staff.  It pulled me
through the forest with such force that I could barely feel the ground
below my feet, I was flying toward my love.  “Faith!” I yelled out
again, “Faith!, faith!”.
As I made my way out of the forest I saw a community of people
huddled together in a circle, as if in a worship.  At this moment I
realized this was the event I originally planned to attend. Through
the crowed of people I noticed all the familiar faces from my small
town.  I heard the voice of Deacon Gookin, the minister of our church.
Not too far away was Goody Cloyse, the holiest of women.  This wasn’t
the place I wanted to be, nor was this how I imagined these people.
They were no longer good loving people, but rather devil worshipers.
The people of Salem finally revealed their true colors, colors I would
never identify with.  As I tried to make haste to flew, I saw my Faith
participating with the wretched of men.  “Faith!” I yelled out to her,
“Look up into the heavens! Don’t let your soul be filled with evil!”.
And as the last breathe carried out those words, I awoke in the
forest, confused but rational.  I wasn’t sure if this ordeal was a
dream or not but I knew I had to make my way back to town.  Walking
through the streets I saw the faces of all the people who were just
moments ago preaching the work of Satan.  I passed them by in disgust
as they carried on as if clueless to their wretched ways.  My faith
was home, but I no longer saw her as my loving wife, for her innocence
was tainted with the same darkness as the shadows in the forest.  The
night I left my Faith at home changed my life forever.  I could never
again look at the people of Salem as I once saw them.  I only saw the
evil that consumed them.  Even if they chose not to reveal it, I still
knew.

 

 

 

Although the narration used by the author in “Young Goodman Brown”
creates a perfect environment for the plot there is still something
missing when it comes to the characters.  The lack of first-person
narrative leaves the reader scratching their head during the moments
of suspense.  Retelling the story from a first person perspective
helps depict what was going through Goodman Brown’s head during his
ordeal.  The author’s focused on using a omniscient narrator to convey
the darkness, resentment, and regret that filled Goodman throughout
the story, while the retelling using the first-person narrative
focuses on a more indepth look of the character and his surrounding
world.
The omniscient narration gives great focus of the environment and
characters through imagery.  The story begins with the author
describing Goodman as he begins his trip, “Goodman Brown came forth at
sunset, into the street of Salem Village, but put his head back, after
crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss with his young
wife.”  From the start of the conversation between Goodman Brown and
his wife the narration depicts the mood in the room by describing the
movement of the characters and the reactions they have toward each
other.  He said, “‘Dearest heart,’ whispered she, softly  and rather
sadly, when her lips were close to his ear”.  Compared to the
retelling of the story, the first-person narrative avoids the scenic
route by stating how things really are from the perspective of the
character present in the room, “‘Dearest heart,’ She whispered to me
as she pleaded for me to stay.  She didn’t want me to go, she was too
afraid for my safety, and for her own, as well.  She exclaimed she was
too fearful of spending the night alone but I urged her to remain
hopeful and to trust in my words.”
Mid story, as Goodman Brown meets with the traveler, the role of the
omniscient narration is worked in in a masterful way.  “It was now
deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where those
two were journeying.”  wrote Nathaniel Hathorne, the author of the
short story, in his attempt to use imagery as the main player in this
story.  As previously mentioned, “darkness” and “resentment” play a
big part in the narration.  Throughout the story Goodman Brown is
given signs that urge him to abandon his journey.  The author goes on
to describe the fellow traveler’s walking staff, “But the only thing
bout him, that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which
bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought, that
it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living
serpent.  This, of course, must have been an ocular deception,
assisted by uncertain light.  “A Good Man”, the retold version of this
short story, goes into detail about the traveler’s walking staff as
well but with minor focus on creating a mood based around the cane.
Goodman described the walking staff as he saw it, “Although he seemed
confidant and controlled, the staff that accompanied him was an
uncomfortable sight. A twisted walking stick that had a pattern to it
that resembled a serpent.  With every step we made I could feel his it
slither beside us.”  With this change of narration we’re able to
understand directly how Goodman Brown felt about the traveler and the
staff he kept on his person.
The use of the first-person narration is most beneficial during the
ending of the short story.  When Goodman Brown becomes filled with
hate and resentment toward his fellow townspeople, he searches inside
himself for answers but is unable to rationalize the events that took
place.  In a last hope of salvation, he closes off to the world and
becomes completely submerged in his purity, denying everyone who he
once knew any access to his innocence.  The retold story ends with
this narration from Goodman Brown; “I could never again look at the
people of Salem as I once saw them.  I only saw the evil that consumed
them.  Even if they chose not to reveal it, I still knew.”.  When we
compare this ending with that of the original short story we are able
to see how well the contrast in narration affects story, “And when he
had lived long, and was borne to his grave, a hoary corpse, followed
by Faith, an aged woman, and children and grand-children, a goodly
procession, besides neighbors, not a few, they carved no hopeful verse
upon his tombstone; for his dying hour was gloom.”
There are many advantages to each style of narration, the omniscient
narrator can submerge the reader in the world surrounding the
character while the first-person narrator is able to give us an inside
look through the eyes and heart of the protagonist.  There is no wrong
way to narrate a story.  It’s the author job to carry the readers from
the beginning to the end in a smooth and consistent manner, regardless
of the narrative style.

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard

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Knowing that Mrs. Mallard

Katherine Ferrer

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death.

It has her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences. Mrs. Mallard’s husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her sister. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name heading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

Josephine was worried. All she could think of before telling her sister the news of the accident was how she would react. It troubled her greatly to think that Louise might get sick upon hearing the bad news.

Louise did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in Josephine’s arms. Josephine could not bear the sight of her sister breaking down like this, but she could do nothing except hold her. When the storm of grief had spent itself, Louise went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.

That didn’t go too well. Hopefully Louise will be well in there, she thought. Josephine and Richards looked at each other, words at the moment weren’t necessary. The looks on their face said it all. They didn’t know what Louise was doing in her room, and this troubled them.

The news had not been so easy on them either. Mr. Mallard had been a dear friend to all those who knew him. “He was a great man, he would be dearly missed” stated Richards. He had been devastated when he heard the news. Josephine was very sad too. Her brother in law had become very dear to her in the years that he and her sister had been married.

“How could this have happened? He was such a hardworking man. He didn’t deserve to die this way, not in a terrible accident like this one. What would Louise do now?” commented Josephine to Richards. She was still taken aback by the event that was taking place. Richards agreed with her silently, nodding his head to her comment. He didn’t know what would be of Mrs. Mallard either. She was not alone though. She had her sister Josephine, and him.

As they both sat in the living room, she and Richards started to discuss Mrs. Mallard’s reaction to the news of her husbands’ death. She didn’t seem to be as distressed by the news as one would think any women would be when they discover that their husband has died a tragic death. “Do you believe he was happy, Richards?” she asked, gaze fixed on the ground.

He didn’t know what to answer to this question. He had always witnessed them being happy. They were always smiling around each other. Mr. Mallard always gloated about his home to the other workers. He always told us stories about how happy his wife made him, and how he didn’t wish for nothing else in the world but to live happily with his wife as they had lived until now. But her reaction gave way to a different understanding. She seemed a tad calm about everything.

Upstairs, Louise had sat on an armchair that was in the center of the room, facing the window. “Dead,” the word repeated itself over and over in her head. “He was dead!” Her husband was dead! What would she do now, she was all alone. She had no one. The person that she had shared her life with for all those years was gone, and had left her alone. All the thoughts that were now running through her head were beginning to confuse her. Was she alone?

She rose, walking towards the window; her gaze was fixed away on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. She stood at the base of the window, letting the breeze hit her face slowly. There was something coming to her with the breeze. What was it? She did not know. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, and the color that filled that air.

She became agitated. Her breathing started to quicken. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: “free, free, free!” All of a sudden, she wasn’t so taken aback by this feeling.

She did not stop to ask of it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

And yet she had loved him—sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she had suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!

“Free! Body and soul free!” Louise kept whispering.

Josephine became more worried when she noticed that much time had gone by and her sister had still to come down from the bedroom. She and Richards had been commenting on the accident, and what would be of Louise now that her husband had died. “Enough time has passed, let me go to the bedroom and see what is going on,” she said to Richards.

What is happening in that room, she thought? She had to get in there and help her sister. She walked rapidly to the bedroom, and knelt before the closed door with her lips to the key hold,  imploring for admission. “Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door—you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.”

“Go away. I am not making myself ill,” replied the sister from inside the bedroom. No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she would had thought with a shudder that life might be long. Louise arose at length and opened the door to her sister’s importunity.  There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of victory. She clasped her sister’s waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.

As she held her sister and they walked slowly, Louise stopped suddenly. She stared at the door in disbelief. Her eyes were betraying her. This could not be happening. “What is the meaning of this?” she said. Someone was walking through the front door. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry; at Richards’ quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. But it was all a horrid vision. Louise’s eyes started to shut, and she started to slip from her sisters’ grip, her body limbless, all of a sudden.

“Hurry Richards, do something!” shouted Josephine.

But they had been too late.

When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease—of the joy that kills.

 

 

 
In “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin, we are told the story of Mrs. Mallard, a woman that has just discovered that her husband has died in a horrible train accident. Upon discovering this news, she is enjoying this new-found freedom that she has obtained by widowing. The original story is told from a third-person limited narration style. The narrator has access to the thoughts and feelings of the main character; Mrs. Mallard. We know what she is thinking throughout the course of the story, and permitted access to her mind, her thoughts and feelings. In my retelling of “The Story of an Hour,” I would like to switch the narration from Mrs. Mallard, to her sister Josephine. Although the original story’s third-person limited narration from Mrs. Mallard’s point of view offers us a detailed view of the main characters thoughts, this retelling uses a third-person omniscient narration style to give the reader access to the thoughts and feelings of all the characters in the story. In this retelling, we get insight to new details and thoughts that were not accessible to the reader with the original narration style.
Throughout the process of “The Story of an Hour,” we are taken through a journey from the eyes of the main character. In my retelling, in addition to still being able to tell what Mrs. Mallard is thinking, we also get to see a lot of the thoughts of the new narrator, Josephine: “Josephine was worried. All she could think of before telling her sister the news of the accident was how she would react. It troubled her greatly to think that Louise might get sick upon hearing the bad news.” Here, we see what Josephine is thinking. She is troubled by the fact that she has to tell her sister such bad news, and she fears her reaction. This offers us a distinct point of view that will give the reader an advantage to understanding the story better.
Upon changing our narration style, this switch gives us new access to things in the retelling that the narrator didn’t have permission to originally. On top of being able to access the thoughts of all characters, we are also able to roam freely in the setting of the story. This gives the reader a new edge. While being in one room, the narrator can also tell what is going on in another room of the story: “She rose, walking towards the window; her gaze was fixed away on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.” The narrator now has access to a different room than her own, in addition to the thoughts of the character in that room. Our new narrator Josephine can tell us what is happening in the room upstairs, which is an essential part to understanding the story in its entity. Had we chose to make our new narration third-person limited from Josephine’s point of view, we would only see what she is thinking. Therefore, we would not get an insight into the happiness that losing her husband has brought Mrs. Mallard, key element in the story.
Finally, from switching our narration style to third-person omniscient, our new permissions to retelling the story are very beneficial. Something that we didn’t have in the original story that we have in the retelling are some thoughts that the characters had of Mr. Mallard. We only hear him be mentioned once in the original and hearing more about him gives the reader a different advantage: “The news had not been so easy on them either. Mr. Mallard had been a dear friend to all those who knew him. ‘He was a great man, he would be dearly missed’ stated Richards.” Here, we get the point of view of a friend of Mr. Mallard, in contrast to only the thoughts of the main character in the original story. Richards who was a great friend of Mr. Mallard is offering the reader his feelings towards the death of his friend, a different approach than the original.
Overall, switching from a third-person limited narration from Mrs. Mallard’s point of view to a third-person omniscient narration from Josephine’s point of view, in “The Story of an Hour” has given the reader quite a few different advantages as to the way they depict the story. With an omniscient narration style, the author can give the reader something more. The reader not only gets to see and hear what Mrs. Mallard is thinking as the main character, but they can also hear what the other characters in the story are thinking. With the ability to move about in the story’s plot and setting, the reader also gets the opportunity to view distinct opinions that help mold how they are able to interpret the story. These are all positive advantages that are obtained by switching from a limited to an omniscient narrator. This switch offers the reader a different understanding of the original “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin.

A Night That Changed Everything

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A Night That Changed Everything

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As Faith opened the door for her husband, Goodman Brown, he looked outside and then started crossing the threshold. He turned back and gave her a parting kiss. Faith, the name was aptly named. She thrust her head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons on her cap.

“Dearest heart”, whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were close to his ear, “pr’ythee, put off your journey until sunrise, and sleep in your own bed to-night”. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts, that she is afeard of herself, sometimes. “My dear husband, stay here with me tonight”, said Faith.

“My love and my Faith,” he replied, “of all night in the years, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done ‘twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married!”

“Then God bless you!” she said, “And may you find all well, when you come back.”

“Amen!” he cried. “Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.”

So they parted; and she saw the shadow of Goodman Brown is fading away and the tears on her face dropped. Then she walked back in to the house and closed the door. The house seemed empty and lonely. She walked into her room with a worried face she sensed that something bad was going to happen to Goodman Brown. She paced to the window and looked outside, “Please my lord, bless on him all the way until he is back home safe.”

There was a tremendous thunder as Goodman Brown was walking toward the ceremony. It was dark in the night, a murder of crows were flying above him. Faith saw her husband walking. She couldn’t see anything except darkness and Goodman’s shadow as he is walking toward the forest. “Faith, Faith
.Help me!” screamed Goodman Brown. Faith saw her husband’s back fading away from her sight.

She woke up and realized it was a nightmare. She cried on her bed. It was raining outside and then she fell back to sleep. She dreamed again. She saw her husband in the forest walking alone. While walking himself alone, she sees that Goodman’s mouth was moving like he was talking to someone, but she saw nobody next to him. Then she saw that he picked a staff that looked evil. The staff bore the likeness of a great black snake that it almost seemed to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent. “My love!” she screamed in her dream. She thought Goodman could hear her because she saw that he looked startled when she called his name. She saw that he screamed but she couldn’t hear what he said. Then she saw him disappeared in the forest.

She woke up again; it was the next morning. She was thinking about what the dream was signified. She couldn’t figure out the meaning of the dream. “Was that really my husband in the dream?” she whispered to herself. She got up from her bed and went to wash her face and then prepare the breakfast for Goodman Brown because he is coming back home.

She walked to the street, seeing her husband walking toward the village. She looked happy. But as he came by near her, he looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting. She wondered what happened to her husband, and she was worried. From that day on, he barely spoke to her. He didn’t trust her anymore. On the Sabbath-day, he refused to listen, and thought the people in town all became evil. “He doesn’t love me anymore,” she cried to herself. For the rest of her life, she lived her life as if she was alone. And even after Goodman Brown died, she will never know what happened in the forest that night; the night that changed him forever.

 

 

 

 

The original story of “Young Goodman Brown” was a third-person limited narration short story. In the story, the narrator was mainly focused on Goodman Brown. It was a limited narration because we didn’t know what happen to his wife Faith while Goodman Brown was attending to the ceremony. In my new version story, “A Night that Changed Everything,” it was also a third-person limited narration but this time the narrator was focused on the wife Faith. Both stories were limited narration but focused on different characters. In this essay, I will compare both stories that will change the way the reader see things differently.

In the story “Young Goodman Brown”, he was a Christian and he is going to attend the evil ceremony. He left his wife Faith in the house alone for that night. In the story the narrator mostly focused on Goodman Brown so he knows what he does, sees, says and hears. While he was in the forest, he met a man. “But the only thing about him, that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake
like a living serpent”. This describes the man he met in the forest was holding an evil-like staff. The man also said he knows Goodman’s father and grandfather. As they nearly getting close to the ceremony, Goodman Brown heard the voice of his wife Faith. He screamed her name out loud in the forest and then he saw the pink ribbon that belongs to Faith flew down from the sky. He took the staff that the man gave him, and it dragged him faster to the ceremony like flying. Once he was in the ceremony, he didn’t see Faith. Goodman saw one of the converts was Faith and he told her to resist the devil. Then suddenly he realized he was alone in the forest. The next morning he returned to Salem Village and as he see his wife Faith. “But Goodman Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting.” At the end he didn’t want to trust anyone even his family and thought they all became evil.

In the new version story, the narrator focused on Faith. In the story, Faith opened the door for her husband to go to an evil ceremony and he has to leave her in the house alone for a night. She requested him to not to go because she worried about him but Goodman Brown insist he must go. As they were apart, Faith went back to her room and prayed that her husband will be back to town safely. At night, she had nightmares that she saw her husband. She saw that he was in the forest alone walking in the rain and murders of crows were flying above him. And she heard he screamed for help from her. In her second dream, she saw him again walking alone and as he was walking, he spoke to himself. She saw Goodman picked up the staff that almost seemed like a living serpent. Then she screamed “My love!” and she saw him startled. She woke up and it was the next morning. She cooked for her husband and knowing that he is coming back home today. As she saw him walking toward the village, he passed by and looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting. And for the rest of her life, he barely spoke to her. Until the day Goodman Brown died, she still didn’t know what happened to him that night in the forest; the night that changed him forever.

In comparison, both stories were 3rd person limited narration. Both stories started and ended with same plot that Goodman Brown went off to his journey to the evil ceremony and ended with trusting no one in the town. From the original story, “But the only thing about him, that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake
like a living serpent” and new story, “Then she saw that he picked a staff that looked evil. The staff bore the likeness of a great black snake that it almost seemed to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent”, both stories happened to showed that Goodman Brown saw a staff that looked like an evil living serpent. In the new story, when Faith screamed “My love!” she saw Goodman startled and in the original story, Goodman Brown heard Faith’s voice in the forest and he screamed her name. This shows that Goodman Brown really did heard Faith’s voice. Also in the end of both stories, Goodman Brown went back to town and looked sternly and sadly into Faith’s face, and passed on without a greeting. And after that night in the forest, he didn’t want to trust anyone in the town or even his family.

One difference in both stories is that in the original story, Goodman Brown thought Faith was in the ceremony because he saw her for a while then he found out himself alone in the forest, but in the new version of the story, Faith was at home alone and she had nightmares that night which hardly for her to sleep. This gives the reader a sense of thinking it might be Goodman Brown who had gone crazy while he was at the ceremony. If the reader didn’t read the original story but read the new version of my story, they might think that he had gone crazy instead of believing the whole town of people and his wife turned into devil. Even though we know that he died later in his life, but his wife still don’t know what happened in the forest; the night that changed him forever.