Category Archives: Week 6


Noisome – a : offensive to the senses and especially to the sense of smell <noisome garbage>
b : highly obnoxious or objectionable <noisome habits

Used in “Beloved” on page 28, 2nd paragraph, at the bottom of the page.

Quiet, primate and completely secret except for the noisome cologne signal that thrilled the rabbits before it confused them.

I think that she was describing the perfume of her playroom and the unpleasant spelled it held but on that she attributed to the room. I found this sentence a bit confusing and how the word was to be applied.



noun im·per·ti·nence \(ˌ)im-ˈpər-tə-nən(t)s, –ˈpərt-nən(t)s\
a. irrelevance, inappropriateness
b. incivility, insolence

Page 60 Paragraph 11/12 – “There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down. I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness,”

John’s wife is talking about how inappropriate and uncivil the bulbous eyes look to her and the absurdity of the situation of being in this room with the ugly yellow wallpaper

Retelling, 3rd Person Omniscient

Retelling A Rose For Emily -3rd Person Omniscient (first Posted Under Reply to Project 1)

WHEN Emily Grierson died, her whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant–a combined gardener and cook–had seen in years.
It was a big, frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been the best street. But due to development of  garages and cotton gins even the august names of that neighborhood have vanished; only her house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-a degradable sight to see. And now she had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, she had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor–he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-rid her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that she would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily’s father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris’ generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
The next generation came around, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction for Emily. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff’s office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china-painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by Tobe an old servant into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse–a close, dank smell. Tobe led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When Tobe opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of her father.
They rose when she entered–a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
She never offer them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain.
Her voice was dry and cold. “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves.”
“But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn’t you get a notice from the sheriff, signed by him?”
“I received a paper, yes,” She said. “Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . . I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see we must go by the–”
“See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But, Miss Emily–”
“See Colonel Sartoris.” (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!” Tobe appeared. “Show these gentlemen out.”


Highminded,  (Adjective)

According to the Merriam Webster dictionary highminded means:  having strong moral principles

The word highminded is used by Mr. Mathews in the class handout entitled, “The Cottagette,” on page 54.

Mr. Mathews professed his love for Malda by stating, “I love you because of all this, because you are rational and highminded and capable of friendship…”

The word is used by Mr. Mathews appropriately to described the many attributes of the  woman he admired, loved and hoped to marry.

My Retelling “A Rose for Emily” by William Faulkner

“The Late Truth”

I go by the name of Homer Barron. I am a Foreman from the North with a rather large body size with a dark skin complexion, a booming voice, and light-colored eyes. I am a gruff and demanding boss of my company. I consider myself accepted by the town because I was able to win many admirers in Jefferson because of my gregarious nature and good sense of humor. 

It was a scorching hot summer day on the job. Me and my men were hard at work on a sidewalk-paving project in town working towards completing by the end of the week and move on the the next job, because you know what they say “time is money,” well at least thats what I always put my belief in, and it makes sense doesn’t it?

The first day on this project, as me and my men begin digging and shoveling into the ground breaking the concrete bit my bit, the jackhammers prying the hard cement open like a nutcracker breaking open a wall nut so effortlessly making a loud cracking noise like an intense thunder storm rolling into town.

It was part of the job as foreman to inform the locals of our work so I went door to door on the block to let them know that we will be working on the concrete floors not to be alarmed by the noise and apologize for the inconvenience that we may cause. This is how I came across the most beautiful creature that I have ever set my eyes on.  She had beautiful young lady with long brown hair, a beautiful pair of brown eyes that glistened in the light and velvety smooth skin. 

I formally introduced myself and informed her that there will be a lot of noise for the next few hours. A few days later I was taking her around town in my chariot and we were spending a lot of time with each other. I was sure that the towns people were talking about us because lets face it, a wealthy and beautiful young lady like Emily was not usually seen with a man of my stature.

Emily was always skeptical of me coming into her home but one afternoon she invited me over for dinner so I blissfully made my way over to her home. After dinner emily asked me if I wanted a further tour of the upstairs rooms and I agreed. She brought me to the attack room, looked like any normal old room, bed night counter with a bunch of little trinkets. i then took the last gulp of the wine that was on my glass from dinner and little that I know that this would be the last liquid that I would ever consume. Complete feeling in my body had vanished and the room faded to black.

The Woman

There’s a woman in the room, although oddly familiar she is still a stranger. It is very intriguing watching her struggling to break free of the strangling ropes that bind us, how silly it is seeing her indulge her madness.

John, that is the name spoken from her lips, this man he loves her, or so it seems.  I hear bits and pieces of their conversations, sometimes they make sense sometimes not.  She shares her fears he shoots them down, he tries to save her. Is that not love? Even so, I can see the cracks starting to form on her countenance as she continues to divulge into her madness, which is slowly becoming more apparent.

He says, “There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so? ” She quiets down, but it doesn’t look as if she’s fighting her thoughts, she entertains them, feeds them. Foolish girl! Can’t you see there is no breaking free?

She writes a lot; I always see her writing in secrecy with the madness creeping out of her and seeping into the pages, her foolhardy thoughts out in the open for anyone to stumble upon. The cracks are quickly spreading all over her frail body, I am legitimately concerned seeing her thoughts pushing to break free to pierce into the room and consume the air.

She is much calmer during the daytime and more frantic at night. At night she sees me; am I a threat to her or is she a threat to me? John isn’t around much anymore. Can’t she see she is neglecting her duty of love for him?  There is another woman, John’s sister, keeping her keen eyes on her, Jennie. Can Jennie see the madness that I can see in her clearly now, it’s a shade darker than any black I have ever seen. It swells inside her, building momentum and seeping out of the  now countless cracks.

The black has now completely consumed her seeping out in a frantic rhythm. She’s coming closer, what is this? I cannot help but laugh loudly, I reckon she must have heard it. She is attempting to tear the barrier away. She is indeed the ‘Silly goose’ John claims her to be. This barrier is unbreakable. I will not allow her to consume me, I am happy where I am. This place is where I must remain, it is the only way for me to fulfill my purpose. For the life of me I cannot recall what this purpose is but I must remain here. I am sure of it. She promises to try again. There aren’t any worries on my part, she will never succeed. They never do.

She’s more frantic than ever, peeling off more of the barrier. My pleas are fallen to deaf ears as she desperately tries to break the barrier. Her duties, my duties long forgotten. She is me. I am getting angry enough to do something desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try. Besides I wouldn’t do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued.  I don’t like to look out of the windows even- there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast. I wonder if they all come out of that wallpaper as I did? But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden rope – you don’t get me out in the road there ! I suppose I shall have to get back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard! It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and creep around as I please!

I don’t want to go outside. I won’t, even if Jennie asks me to. For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green instead of yellow. But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way. Why there’s John at the door!

It is no use, young man, you can’t open it! How he does call and pound! Now he’s crying for an axe. It would be a shame to break down that beautiful door! “John dear!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf!”

That silenced him for a few moments. Then he said–very quietly indeed, “Open the door, my darling!” “I can’t,” said I. “The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!” And then I said it again, several times. very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it of course, and came in.

He stopped short by the door. “What is the matter?” he cried. “For God’s sake, what are you doing! ” I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder.

“I’ve got out at last,” said I, ” in spite of you and Jane? And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back! ” Now why should that man have fainted? But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every time!

The Pink Ribbon

The Pink Ribbon – A retelling of Young Goodman Brown
Edited by Rena

[1] My sweet husband and I came forth at sunset, into the street of Salem village. After crossing the threshold, he turned around and kissed me with his soft supple lips. I felt the wind playing with the pink ribbon in my hair. I felt him pulling me towards the dark side but I refused. I cannot let this happen. I don’t want to go, not yet.

[2] I leaned towards his ear. “Dearest heart,” I whispered softly and afraid, “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’s afeard of herself, sometimes. Pray, tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year!”

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

[4] I do not doubt you my dearest… I doubt myself! Please, my dearest, doubt the lone woman, stay with me by my bedside to-night! I wanted to scream these words in my poor Goodman’s ear but he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t let me make a sound of my plea.

[5] “Then God bless you!” he forced me to say, “and may you find all well, when you come back.”

[6] It will not be well, and my dear Goodman will never really be back. Neither will I.

[7] “Amen!” cried my poor sweetheart. “Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.”

[8] I watched as my love pursued his way, until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back, with a melancholy air hovering behind him.

[9] Then he was gone.

[10] “He’s chosen…” thought I as I walked back into the house, for my heart smote me.

[11] I closed the door behind me and headed towards the window in my dimly lit room.

[12] “The devil!” I screamed as I felt a serpent tail-like stick on my neck.

[13] I turned around and there he was, about fifty years old, with an indescribable air of one who knew the world. I saw 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 the uncertain light…

[14] “He has chosen, and so have you my sweet girl!” said he of the serpent.

[15] If my dear Goodman choose to walk with the Devil tonight, I will walk with him as well. I will sell my soul to the devil if it means being with my sweet love.

[16] Just seconds later, I felt trapped in my body. I felt like I was gazing through the eyes of a stranger’s withered body. “Oh how weird this feels” I thought. I was no longer in control as I watched the scenery change from the familiarity of my bedroom to the meeting house where I last saw my love, and finally to the wicked dark forest.

[17] “With Heaven above, and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the devil!”

[18] “Who was that?” thought I. “I know that voice. I know that is the voice of my dearest love. My sweet husband has changed his mind. What am I to do, there is no turning back now!”

[19] “Goodman, my sweet sweet Goodman, oh do please hear me! Come take me home with you my dear, so we can sleep in our own bed to-night, and forget about this nightmare!” I uttered with uncertain sorrow.

[20] But his voice was drowned out in the wind and before long I was before a sheet of flame; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage.

[21] The fiend-worshippers surrounded the flame chanting or screaming … but I couldn’t hear anything. I just looked for my dear Goodman, as hope came into my heart, I trembled.

[23] Then, a wretched man held me with his trembling hands.

[24] It was my dear Goodman. “Goodman, dear, oh how great it is to see you! Take me away from this nightmare, I beg of you” I kept screaming at him.

[25] His mouth seem to be saying my name, but I couldn’t hear anything.

[26] “Look up to Heaven, and resist the Wicked One!”  Resist the wicked one… resist the wicked one…

[27] I lifted my head up.

[28] Twisting and wriggling in a pink ribbon, I saw the great black snake.

Two Men in My life

Retelling of the story “A Rose for Emily” in First person narrator
Two Men in My Life
I am Emily and I live in a small town where my father has influent in old generation and he is also influent my life when I was in younger age by not allowing any young men in town to approach me. Because of him, many town people in the community believe I am pride and stubbornness. Some saw me as very distant person and living in the past. I believe I am a very strong person never change my mind and give up what I want to do.
I loved my father because he was the only man that I met in life until he died and at the same time I hated him so much for bringing me up so lonely and not thinking long enough for my future if he was unable to accompany me one day . He believes that none of the young men were quite good enough to me. Now, I am all alone by myself in this old house with nothing left. How should I do with this big old house with no one to talk to? The complex feeling of love and hatred to my father strike me so hard that caused me sick for a longtime after his death. Although I have two cousins in Alabama, we were not too close due to the estate of my great aunt when my father was alive. Furthermore, they didn’t even show up at my father’s funeral and I am not close enough to them to talk about my feelings. The fears, the loneliness and sleepless night cause me sick for a long time but I do not want the town people to see my weakness since my family has a reputation in town and I don’t want people take advantage on me since I am alone and I have to protect the dignity of my family’s tradition and myself.
I met him in the summer after my father’s death. His name was Homer Barron. He was a Yankee–big, dark skinned with a loud voice. He was a construction foreman who came to the town with the construction company for pavement of the town sidewalks. After I met him, I felt myself like a different person and the most enjoyable time of my life. The most memorable time for me was spending the time with him on Sunday afternoon driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy around the town despite of the gossip of the town people and the warning of the minister that I made a bad example to the young people. He also gave me the type of joy that I ever had and I was dreaming and planning of the upcoming my wedding.
After the street sidewalk construction have finished, I thought he gave me opportunity to ask my two female cousins to leave the house and he will be back within a couple days for preparing our wedding. He did back in town after three days my cousins left.
All my dreams and happiness were not last for too long when he said to me that he cannot marry me. He said he enjoys drinking with young men in the Club and he was not the type of marrying person. He is the man that I love most in my life after my father. I hate him as if I never met him in my life and at the same time I don’t want to lose him forever. I must decide to do something so he will with me the rest of my life whether dead or alive. I went to the drug store to buy the best available poison. The local law requires buyer to tell for which purpose use, but I don’t want to answer and just said give me the arsenic then I saw “for rats” on the package.
I have prepared one room above the stair for our wedding. Inside the room, everything was set up for bridal including rose color curtains, rose-shaded lights, dressing table, man’s toilet silver sets, men’s outfit clothing including the nightshirt. I want the man I love to lay on my wedding bed for ever. I will have opportunity to fulfill my wishes to sleep next to him who is alive or not. Since my health gets deteriorating, I know I will not live longer soon. I will leave unanswered question as question mark for the poison that I bought and the corpse that people will find in one room of my house after I die because I don’t like to admit that I committed the crime.


When Miss Emily’s father died Tobe was worried about her.   “God knows how this poor woman will survive without her father,” he muttered to himself.”  He had worked as the Grierson family servant since Miss Emily was a little girl.   He never knew her mother.  When she became a young lady he could not understand why her father never allowed any of the men who were interested in her to court her.  It seemed in the eyes of Mr. Grierson, no man was good enough for her.

“Tobe,” Mr. Grierson would say.  “Show this young man to door.” This happened several times.

The young men would fidget nervously with their hat and would manage to say, “thank you for your time Mr. Grierson,” as if showing Mr. Grierson respect would change his mind.

He and his daughter had a close bond.  Now that he was gone Miss Emily was alone, husbandless and with no family or friends in town, this meant she was bound to be lonely.

He watched her sitting next to the bed on which her father took his last breath.  His body still lay there. He could hear her whispering, “father!”  “Father!”  “Can you hear me?”  “Please wake up.”    Several hours after Mr. Grierson’s death he cautiously approached her.  “Miss Emily,” he said, “should I fetch the coroner to take the body now.”  She turned her head and tears ran down her cheek.  Then she spoke with anger.  “No one is to touch my father!” she screamed.  “No one,”  “Do you hear me Tobe!?”  It was as if the grief she felt was making her mad.   He had never seen her so upset before.  “Alright Miss Emily,” was all he said.

The women folk from town came calling on the second day.   With great effort she manage to pull herself together.   When she met them at the door she was well dressed and very composed.  They had no idea the grief and pain she was feeling.  No one was admitted inside the house.    After Tobe opened the door she would look her visitors in the eye and in a curt voice she would say, “my father is not dead.”

One day after she abruptly closed the door she sat down in the parlor and wept.  Through her sobbing she said, “Tobe, I am alone.”   “Why did he have to leave me?”  He was unsure how to respond.  He was not use to her expressing her personal feelings to him.   Finally he said, “I am here Miss Emily, you are not alone.”

On the second day the ministers and doctors were admitted in the house by Tobe.  They did their best to persuade Miss Emily to let them bury her father.  She would not relent.   Just as they decided to use the law to force her to release the body Tobe appeared at the coroner’s office.   “Miss Emily is ready to bury her father.” Was all he said.

It was not an easy task for Tobe to get Miss Emily to relent.   “This is wrong Miss Emily,” he said to her earlier that morning. “Your father need to be put to rest.”  She turned from her position at her father’s bedside.  He saw the grief in her eyes, but he also saw that she was more subdued.  “You are right Tobe,” she had said.  “Fetch the coroner.”


It took him days to get the smell of death out of that house.   Miss Emily never acknowledge the smell.  It was as if it did not bother her one bit.

After she buried her father she became a recluse, barely leaving the house.   Tobe heard some of the gossip when he went to town on errands for her.   “That’s her negro,” they would say.   “Did you hear?”  a woman said in the grocery store,  “she is broke.”   The other woman chimed in, “I heard all he left her was that old house.”   As the conversation continued he heard yet another woman saying.  “The Griersons always act like they’re better than us, now she will see what it’s like to live like the rest of us.” “Poor Miss Emily,” they all said in unison.

In his mind he visualized himself going up to these women and defending Miss Emily.   He would tell them what a wonderful person she was.  Of course he could not.  He was her servant and there were different rules for people of his race.

One day while they were inside, a noise from outside interrupted the silence of that big old house.  “What’s going on Tobe?” she asked.  “Oh Miss Emily it’s that man Homer Barron cussing those Niggers.” “Who?”  She said.    “Homer Barron,” he repeated.  “He is out there with some niggers paving the sidewalks.”

“Tobe!” she yelled as the noise became even more bothersome.  “Fetch me my hat.”  He was surprised she wanted to go out and quickly fetched her hat.  He opened the door for her and watched as she ventured to the gate.

He was unsure about the conversation that transpired but when she came back inside, he thought he saw a faint smile on her face, something he had not seen in years.

He was shock when the doorbell rang that Sunday and Homer Barron stood there.

He had seen him in town on many occasion since work started on the pavements.  From what he knew he was the foreman of the contracted construction company.  He was a Yankee, a big, dark ready man.  He had a big booming voice and eyes lighter than his face.  He was charming.  The ladies liked him, the little boys followed him around and the men respected him.    Everyone knew Homer Barron.

Tobe! He said with hat in his hand.  “I am here to call on Miss Emily.”   Tobe was unsure what to say, but he quickly recovered and said, “wait here.”  He closed the door.  He was surprised all over again when he saw Miss Emily well dressed and wearing her favorite hat coming down the stairs.  Her face looked bright, she was beaming.   “She looks happy.” He thought to himself.   Despite the fact that she seemed to be expecting Homer Barron Tobe still informed her.  “Miss Emily, a Mr. Homer Barron is at the door.”  “Thank you Tobe,” she said as she waltz through the door he held open for her.    He watched as he held her hand to help her into the yellow horse drawn buggy.

This became a routine.  Every Sunday Homer Barron came by with the horse buggy to pick up Miss Emily.  The women in town now had new events to fuel their gossip machine.   Many were happy for Miss Emily.  Even Tobe was happy.   He noticed Miss Emily was in a pleasant mood since she started to spend time with Homer Baron.

It seemed the town folks especially the women could not make up their minds,  this minute they were happy for Miss Emily and the next minute they gossip about her relationship.   They felt it was not a good example for the young girls in Town for Miss Emily to spend so much time with Mr. Barron without a chaperone.   They forced the minister to speak with her.   Tobe admitted him.  At the end of his speech about moral standards Miss Emily merely said to him.  “What goes on in my life is nobody’s business.”  Then she summoned Tobe and said, “kindly show this gentleman out.”

A few weeks later when her cousins showed up at her house she was upset and told them in no uncertain terms that they too should stay out of her affairs.

By that time all the sidewalks had been paved and Homer Barron left town.   No one knew what to make of it.  After all the whole town thought they would be married.

Even Tobe thought they were to be married.  He had seen them together and saw how happy they were in each other’s company.   When Tobe picked up a man’s toilet set and men’s clothing and a night shirt that Miss Emily had ordered, he felt sure they were to be married.

The cousins left town and sure enough Homer Barron returned.  That Sunday he took Miss Emily on a buggy ride just like old times.

Tobe saw her when she returned to the house.  She did not look happy.  “Are you alright Miss Emily?” he asked.   She did not reply.   Next day she insisted that she have to go to town.  She returned with a package from the drug store.   She placed the package in the kitchen.  Tobe could not resist opening the package.   He read the label out loud, “for rats.”  He was puzzled because he had not seen rat in the house for a long time.

One day at dusk Homer Barron came for supper.  Tobe admitted him through the kitchen door.   He could not understand why he did not use the front door.  “Hi Tobe.”  “Miss Emily asked me to use the kitchen door.”

When Tobe walked by the parlor he overheard Homer Baron talking to Miss Emily.  “It’s the same as we discussed before,” Homer said.  “I am not ready to get married.”   Miss Emily was quiet for a moment then with grace and dignity she rose and looked at Homer.  “Would you like something to eat,” she asked.”  She excused herself and went to the kitchen.  She returned later with a tray.

As they ate she did her best to seem light hearted, but deep down she was hurting.  After the meal Homer Barron just sat there as if he could not move.

“Tobe!” Miss Emily said, “Take Mr. Barron upstairs to his room.”  He knew exactly which room she spoke of,  for earlier that day she had asked him to lay out all the items she brought for him in that room.

The next day he thought Homer had left town.  He brought Miss Emily her breakfast.  Her faced looked sad and withdrawn.  It reminded him of when she lost her father.

He noticed the room he had put Homer Barron in was locked with a key.

Then the smell started. At first it was faint like when Mr. Grierson died.  Then it got strong and overpowering.  It was the smell of death he thought.   He was not sure what to make of it.   Sometimes she would open the door to the room she had set up for Homer and stay there for a long time.

The smell went away in a couple of months.   Tobe was glad.  He was too old to track down where that smell was coming from.

After that Miss Emily never went out again.  She got older and frail from lack of fresh air and sunlight.

When she took sick and died Tobe felt sorry for her.  She had not experience the joy of marriage and family.  He left soon after her death.  He had family in another town he would be staying with.  He did not go to the funeral and he was not there when they broke open the door to Homer Barron’s room and found the man lying there.   Strands of grey hair and the impression of Miss Emily’s body was on the bed.    Poor Emily,  she could not have him in life, but she certainly had him all to herself in death.











“The Husbands Side of Life”

Beep beep beep! “What’s this? She’s in labor. My wife’s in labor everyone, I must leave at once.” Where’s my keys, John breathe think, oh here they are. This is going to be the longest 5 minute drive of my life.

“Where’s room 309?” “Right down the hall sir.” Said the Nurse

I better slow down I’m running out of breathe.

“John you’re here” says Jane, “of course, now it’s time to have our son.”

After 10 hours of labor we are exhausted. It was a stressful delivery, emergency cesarean. Thankfully mom and baby are in good health. I will have to take over lots of duties in the next week or so while she heals.

“Darling would you like to hold him, I can assist you?” “Not right now I’m too tired” she said.

Days like this turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. I had to hire a stay home nanny and have my sister Jennie move in to look after my family as I had to go back to work.

Work has become my life. At home I didn’t want to be in Jane’s way, all she would ever speak about was the ugly wallpaper in our bedroom. She hasn’t progressed she analyses the wallpaper in a way that she drives herself insane. Not calling my wife crazy, she’s just putting too much attention on unnecessary things instead of her health. I love my wife I want her back, back the way she once was. Writing about beautiful things and places full of life.

Our son is growing, my poor child needs love and affection from his mother. I try as much as I can and Jennie is great trying to play the mother role. But she’s not his mother, it’s a lot for Jennie she cannot have children of her own. Meanwhile Jane bared a child and doesn’t want anything to do with him.

Home is dreadful, but it’s home. I have horrid thoughts while I’m away at work, as soon as I open the estates door I run up to Jane’s room to check on her and hope she hasn’t harmed herself in away. I discussed anti-depressants for her with her brother, he agreed that taking something might actually help her relax. She slept better that night, but she’s still not my Jane. Will I ever get her back?

“Jane dear please go for a walk, some fresh air might do you well” “yes darling” said Jane

Finally she listened, getting out might be good for her. I wanted her gone so I can take a good look at the hideous wallpaper.

First thing I notice it yellow, ugly yellow not a happy bright yellow, with uneven patterns. Ahh that must be what bothers her. It’s not aligned correctly. This paper must’ve shifted with the heat and melted, no one has lived her in years. That can be irritating, there’s no beauty in the room. I thought possibly with this room previously being a nursery she might want to connect with our child.

“Jennie! Please come in here”

“Yes John, please hurry this room isn’t well” she said

“That’s exactly what I wanted to speak with you about. What do you see when you look into this wallpaper.” I asked curiously.

“John, I see Jane. Jane’s somehow lost in there. I notice the yellow and how it stains one’s clothing. Jane’s clothes always have patches of yellow as if she was sleeping on a yellow stained bed. I do wish you would take it down for her.” Said Jennie.

We only have a day left in this house, maybe I should’ve redecorated or listened to Jane and went into another room. Unfortunately I now have to leave for work over night tonight. This can be well for Jane, some closure or at very least happiness that she will never see the wallpaper again.

“Jennie, would you please stay with Jane tonight?”

“I will John, safe travels brother. Don’t worry about us here?” Jennie replied

My dear sister if only it was that easy to not worry. As I worked all I could think of was that wallpaper and what it has done to Jane. She looked at it as if someone was looking back her.

Now to get ready to go home. It’s been a strange 3 months. Let’s see how Jane will be in the comfort her own home. “Let’s get going everyone, the sooner we have everything together the sooner we are out of here”. I yelled.

“Jane dear, it’s John, I’m ready to take you home.”

“John” she said

“Open this door”

“I can’t, but you can from the outside with the key” she replied

I can’t get this door open, she doesn’t sound well. I hope she’s safe and my worst fear hasn’t come true. She cannot be harmed. I need her I love her. Finally it’s open.

“What the matter with you Jane, I nearly had a heart attack for god’s sake your yellow”

“I’m free!” she whispered

Maybe I was wrong for bringing her here and I shouldn’t have left her last night.

“What do you mean by free.”

“I’ve ripped off the wallpaper, so you can’t put me back” she said

Now I understand she was so lost and confined she saw herself in the yellow wallpaper. Oh no what’s that I think I’m having that heart attack now.