Tag Archives: “The Story of an Hour”

draft, Project #1, Week 7

Project one

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I picked the short story “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin (1894). The character I picked was Ms. Mallard being the narrator.

Knowing that I had a heart trouble everyone was very scared on how to tell me the news of my Husband’s death. They tried to break the news to me as Gently as possible.

My sister Josephine told me in broken sentence; my husband friend Richard was near me. It was him who was there in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with my husband name in the list of “killed”. Richard had only took 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.

I didn’t accept the story as much other women would have, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. I wept once, with sudden, wild abandonment in Josephine arms. When the grief final hit me I went to my room to be alone. At this time I just wanted to be alone and didn’t want anyone to follow me.

I stood there facing the window, a comfortable, roomy arm chair. In this I broke down by a physical exhaustion that haunted my body and reached my soul.

I could see the open square before her house to tops of trees that all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which song which someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves,

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

I sat with head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, expect when a sob came up into my throat and me, as a child who cried herself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

Young I was with a fair people will describes me as, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. I now had a dull stare in my eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It wasn’t a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

There was something to me and I was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? I really didn’t know: it was way to subtle and elusive to name. But I felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching towards her through the sounds, the scents, and the color that filled the air.

Now I bosom rose and fell tumultuously. I started to realize this thing was approaching to possess me, but I was striving to beat it back , as powerless as my hands has been. While I abandon myself a little voice whispered word escaped my slightly parted lips. I said it over and over under my breath: Free Free Free! The fear that I had in my eyes where no longer there my eyes were keen and bright. My pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of my body.

I wonder if it was a monstrous joy that held me or not. A clear and exalted perception enabled me to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. I knew I would weep again when I saw the kind , tender hands folded in death: the face that had never looked safe with love upon me. Fixed and grey and dead. Being in the situation I was in I looked beyond the bitter sweet moment a long procession of years to come that would me. I opened and spread my arms out with welcome.

It hit me that I would have no one to live for in the years to come. It was time that I now have to   live for myself. There woul be nothing no longer in my way. No power to blending me in that blind persistence with men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon one another. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as I look upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

But yet I stilled love him. Often I had not. What did matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which I sudden recognized as the strongest impulse of my being.

I kept whispering Free! Body Free! Soul.

My sister put her lips near the keyhole wanting me to open the door and let her in. she shouts my name “Louise open the door” she begged me to open the door. She believed that I was going to make myself ill. She continue to trying and reach out to me with asking me what I’m doing? And to open the door.

I couldn’t take it no more, I told her go away. I’m not going to make myself ill. I was dinking in a elixir of life through the open window.

Thinking about what the future holds my fancy running riots along those days ahead. Thinking about spring and summer and the other season to come that I’m going to be on my own.

 

 

 

 

 

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draft, Week 7

Comparison “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin

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In my story retelling, I have chosen “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin. The short fiction story involves four major characters: Mrs. Mallard, her sister Josephine, her husband Brently and her husband’s friend Richards. The background of the story is that great care was taken to break the news to Mrs. Mallard about her husband’s death. In the beginning of the story, Mrs. Mallard was expressing tremendous sadness and deep grief caused by the loss of her husband. Suddenly, the grief turned into happiness and joy after she discovered the missing piece of the puzzle which she didn’t know before the death of her husband. She discovered that she can be free and in control of her own acts. In the original story, Chopin shows more than she tells. The point of view is from Mrs. Mallard but the author uses third person assuming Chopin knows Mrs. Mallard thoughts but does not give the reader full access to her thoughts. I retold the story using first person narration and chose Mrs. Mallard is the narrator. However, I believe that this model of narration gives more access to Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts and can give the reader access to more rooms in the story’s action.
Chopin mentions in the fifth paragraph the transition of Mrs. Mallard’s feelings from grief and sadness to freedom and happiness. “She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air.” (P. 5). In the original story, the writer shows symbolic scenes more than telling about Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts. It is noticeable that rain, blue sky and spring life are tangible things that can be seen. The description of the scene where Mrs. Mallard was sitting and looking out of the window helps us to visualize and feel with our senses the future of Mrs. Mallard without her husband.
In the story retelling, speaking of Mrs. Mallard; her inner thoughts are illuminated when she mentions “I was looking through my open window to see high trees, blue sky and birds flying and singing freely. I could feel the freshness of spring and smell the fresh dirt after rain falls over it. The view out of my window resuscitated me and I have to accept the facts and move on” (P. 4). Using the first person narration to express these inside feelings gives more access to Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts. It also builds up trust in the reader’s perception. In this version of Mrs. Mallard telling the story herself we can understand better these symbolic events and interpret them as feelings instead of looking at them as objects such as the blue sky and flying birds that give a sense of Mrs. Mallard’s freedom and her new life without constraints from her husband.
In Chopin’s story when Mrs. Mallard opened the door to her sister Josephine, it wasn’t clear whether Mrs. Mallard’s tears meant happiness or sadness. It was mentioned “There was a feverish triumph in her eyes” (P. 17). Since the story was told in third person, the reader does not get an evident image of Mrs. Mallard’s expressions. In contrast, these expressions are mentioned in the retelling story where Mrs. Mallard says “I opened the door to my sister, I hugged her with a wide open arms. I felt the joy of freedom” (P. 7). It is obvious from this version which was told using first person narration where the narrator is the character itself that Mrs. Mallard was expressing her joy of freedom to her sister Josephine. The reader can have full understanding of the scene.
Towards the end of the story, Mrs. Mallard got an emotional hit from seeing her husband opening the door. According to Chopin in the original story Mrs. Mallard had a heart attack from the joy that kills and the writer mentions “When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease–of the joy that kills” (P. 19). Reading this news with third person narration does not give a serious impression of the harshness of the impact taken by Mrs. Mallard. But using first person narration to retell the story when Mrs. Mallard says “I passed out and they thought that was the joy that makes people unconscious“. (P.8) is helpful to bring the reader’s attention to the seriousness of the event and the truth behind Mrs. Mallard’s heart attack.
Finally, the original and retelling story versions give deeper meaning to different scenes and passages. I find that when a story is told in the first person, it is more accessible to the reader and grabs their attention and it gives clear senses and feelings. In comparison third person narration can make it harder to gain the reader’s trust throughout the story. Additionally, third person narration rarely uses a narrator who is one of the story’s characters- having Mrs. Mallard as a first person narrator opens up her thoughts and feelings for a reader to experience.

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Project #1

RETELLING COMPARISON ESSAY: “A STORY OF AN HOUR” AND “THE PULSE OF LOVE AND EMOTION”

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“A Story of An Hour” and “The Pulse of Love and Emotions” are two stories of the same kind. In other words, both share the same story however, each tell that story differently; that being the Point of View (POV). “A Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin is told in a Third Person Limited perspective and the narration is limited to Mrs. Mallard. My retelling, “The Pulse of Love and Emotions” is told in First Person and is told in the eyes and mind of Mrs. Mallard herself.

In the original story, it was mentioned that Mrs. Mallard “was afflicted with a heart trouble
” Using that fact, I decided to use it as a recurring theme. Since the exact diagnosis of her heart wasn’t mentioned, I decided to diagnose her with a heart condition that is triggered through emotions. Throughout the retelling (mainly in the end of each paragraph), there will be a sentence or two that mentions the state of her heart. To simplify things, in each of these sentences, her emotional state is the trigger and her heart rate is the shot from the trigger.

The first two paragraphs of my retelling was a setting setter and pretty much an introduction of what is to come. These two paragraphs were additional scenes and weren’t seen in the original story. The opening sentence however, is a direct setting that can be found in paragraphs 5 and 6 of the original. I also added Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts about her husband. The last sentence of the first paragraph was a rewording to “And yet she had loved him — sometimes.” I reworded that and used it to go in sync with my recurring theme. Part of the setting setter, there was a “commotion” that I added. This commotion is the result of the news that came to Josephine and Richards. This commotion also is what leads to the start of the original story.

Since the news was something depressing, I made Josephine’s image look depressing as well. Josephine had “the eyes of a sloth”. When it was time to break the news, in both stories, Josephine tells Mrs. Mallard in broken sentences. After finding about the death of her husband, Mrs. Mallard goes up and locks herself in her room. From this point on, the differences between each story become more evident. The Chopin’s original was third person limited so we really didn’t get to see what was going on Mrs. Mallard’s mind. In my retelling, we get to go in Mrs. Mallard’s mind and see what she’s seeing.

Mrs. Mallard in the retelling once again describes the scene that she saw. “The scenery was peaceful, the paragon of the spring season. Trees were blooming with new life while the spring rain was pleasurable redolent of that familiar scent.”  She was motionless like the original and as we move more into the story, we see her realize that her husband’s death can be beneficial to her life. She thought of her husband’s death as an opportunity to do whatever she pleases. She repeated “Free, Free, Free!” At this point, her emotions were all filled with happiness and the recurring theme comes back again to tell us that her heart is accelerating.

Mrs. Mallard acknowledges her new form of loneliness however this loneliness is only something she can look forward to. With Mrs. Mallard now being engulfed with happiness and excitement, she now enters her own world. In the original, we only see her actions however, we don’t see her thoughts. Since the retelling is in first person, we can see what she sees. The world she enters is now visible to the readers. This part defines the differences between the original and the retelling because we are seeing something that we couldn’t see in the original. The world she entered was her utopia; A world that she can be free in with no limits. The chains that held her back were released and the ideal spring weather she loved is present. I made this paragraph sound more like the opening scene of the Disney classic, Cinderella. Sparrows were chirping as the fields were filled were springing with spring life. This world is what defined what was to come in her future. “This is what freedom looks like
.My World, the real world, and now the beat of my heart now resonated as they begin to fuse.”

The worlds of dreams and reality now were fused. Mrs. Mallard was ready to take in this new world. As a result, she proceeded to finally go out to Josephine who was waiting outside her door. We saw in the original that she had “a feverish triumph in her eyes”. I reworded that a little bit to make her sound more victorious. “I looked at her with the eyes of a soldier who came back from a victorious battle.” Once again, I brought the recurring theme, saying that her heart “raced faster than a Kentucky Saddler.” A Kentucky Saddler is a really fast horse that was often used in races.

The final part came with many additions to make the ending sound more dramatic. I added more sound and imagery to it. One example would be the light that came in when the door was opening. The light was a blinding light that we didn’t see in the original. Once again, this scene was purely just to add more drama. The light came with a shadow; that being Brentley Mallard, her husband. We knew that Mrs. Mallard was full of shock so to add to that shock, more interior thoughts were added. “Don’t tell me what I think it is.” “No no no no!” Little thoughts liked that I felt add more drama. In the original, we didn’t know how she was feeling at the time so the extras also added more thought for the readers. Mrs. Mallard felt weak and her heart was racing faster. As a result, she collapsed and like the original, we hear the “piercing” scream of Josephine and we also see Brently Mallard (this time in her eyes). There, her life ended. Since it’s first person, she wouldn’t see the doctor’s evaluation (she’s dead) so I decided to make her final words, their diagnosis. “It was the joy that kills.”

In conclusion, my retelling closely followed the original story except that I added more details to add to the drama. Since I was turning something Third Person to First Person, my goal was to go into the mind of Mrs. Mallard and bring out more of her emotions. I also wanted to add more details along with making the things not known, known. In other words, I wanted to make the story more easier to understand. By adding more details, I felt that the story was more easier to understand. In the end, we saw what was in Mrs. Mallard’s mind the whole time and we saw what she felt in her final minutes.

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draft, Week 7

Retelling Comparison – A Story of an Hour

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For the retelling I picked “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin, where Mrs. Mallard is told about the death of her husband. In the original story, we get to know the thought process of Mrs. Mallard only and the other characters actions or thought process is just left out in thin air. For the retelling I told the story in the view of how Mrs. Mallard sister Josephine would be feeling in such a situation.

In the original story, we first learn that Mrs. Mallard is told about the death of her husband and how she is feeling when is told about the news. In my retelling I start by showing what kind of day it is and how Josephine learns the news about the death of her sister’s husband. I also show how Josephine feels at the time that she learns the news and how she is approaching the situation. We don’t get to know how Josephine is feeling prior to her telling the news to her sister in the original story, so we cannot assume what she is going through or what kind of feelings are being shown by her.

In the retelling, the part where Josephine is telling the news to Mrs. Mallard there are small details that get added such as how Josephine is feeling really nervous and does not know how to tell her sister about the death of the husband. We also get to know that to calm herself down and tell her sister about the news, she drinks tea and takes her time in telling her in order to not greatly affect her health, in which she has a heart problem. From the retelling, we get to know what kind of character Josephine is instead of not knowing at all in the original story.

After Mrs. Mallard knows about the death of her husband she goes into her room and sits in a chair near the window. In the original story, we get to know how the room is like and what Mrs. Mallard is doing while sitting in that chair. We get to know how Mrs. Mallard is going through the pain of losing her husband to getting happy that she gets to live her life the way she wants to; now that her husband is dead.

In the retelling, we get to see a different view of how the other characters are responding to Mrs. Mallard locking herself in her room. We are first presented that when Mrs. Mallard goes to room to be alone is a standard respond to knowing that a loved one has past away. We get to see the different views when they try to talk to Mrs. Mallard when she is in the room and does not get an answer from her.

In the original story, we know that Mrs. Mallard is going through the process of accepting the death of her husband and how she is going to live her life now. In the retelling of the story, we get to see that the other characters assume that this type of action taken by Mrs. Mallard can lead to one that hurts herself because of her health problems. The only action that is taken in the original story that we know is Josephine calling out to Mrs. Mallard to come out of the room. In the retelling, we get to know that more action other than calling out to Mrs. Mallard is taken. Josephine tells Richard to call the doctor and find a way to open the door. From that we can tell that the other characters are worried to what is happening to Mrs. Mallard in the room since they only thing they know is that she is sitting in a chair without and response from her. From the retelling we get to see the emotions that Josephine is feeling from the moment Mrs. Mallard goes into her room to when she leaves it. We get to know that they took early action in calling the doctor in case something happens to Mrs. Mallard and that they tried to get access into the room instead of leaving her alone in the room.

In the final part of the story, both the original and retelling show is a similar view, when Mrs. Mallard comes out of her room and she goes down the stairs to see her husband which causes her to have a heart attack. The only thing we get to see more in the retelling is how Josephine felt when she saw Mrs. Mallard leave her room and the face she has. We get to see the emotion of Josephine from being worried of what happening to her sister to feeling relieved that she came out of her room just fine. We also get to see that when they walk down the stairs, the emotion that goes on when they see the husband is not dead and the facial expression that Mrs. Mallard express at that moment.

With the retelling of this story, we get to know more about the emotions that the other characters felt during this situation. The goal of this retelling was to show that Mrs. Mallard was not the only one that had to face this painful experience, but the other characters also faced one of their own with how to deal with Mrs. Mallard actions in response to the husband deaths.

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draft, Week 7

Comparative Essay – “The Story of An Hour” and “My Short Lived Happy Ending”

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“The Story of An Hour” and “My Short Lived Happy Ending” both tell the same story, but with different narration styles. “The Story of An Hour” gives the reader a third person narration. In “My Short Lived Happy Ending,” the reader is given an autodiegetic first person narration. The difference in the narration can change how each story is interpreted.  In the original story, “The Story of An Hour,” the third person limited narrator actually shows the death of Mrs. Mallard, gives access to some of her thoughts, and a view of more than one room in the story, while in the retelling, “My Short Lived Happy Ending,” the first person autodiegetic narrator shows the reason of Mrs. Mallard’s death without actually showing her death, gives access to her thoughts, and a view of only the rooms that she is in.

In both the original and retelling the death of Louise was depicted differently. The original states, “It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly 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. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease–of the joy that kills.” In this quotation, the narrator is showing the death of Louise, but the characters of the story think she died of a heart attack caused by the joy of seeing her husband alive. The retelling states otherwise. “Then, as we reached the bottom stair, someone opened the front door with a key. My terror returned at the sight of the figure that entered. It was Brently. My heart begins to race and I feel a horrible pain in my chest. I grab my chest and fall, then just pure darkness.” At the sight of her husband, Louise’s heart began to race. She died of fear. Fear that her freedom will be taken away from her once more, since her husband wasn’t actually dead. “My heart begins to race and I feel a horrible pain in my chest. I grab my chest and fall, then just pure darkness.” This line was used to represent Mrs. Mallard’s death. It was difficult to include her death into the retelling, but her heart beginning to race and her chest pain was used to symbolize her dying from the heart disease which she had.

In the retelling, there is access to all of Louise’s thoughts during the course of the story. This shows her true feelings about her husband’s death. “Now that my husband is gone, I have no one to limit me on my actions. I rise from the chair, and fall back down. I begin to feel empowerment, excitement even. Most women that I know would never feel such a way after their husband’s death. ”Free, free, free!” I begin to whisper. My pulses start to race. The terror which had overwhelmed me has dissolved” With this access, the reader can interpret that her relationship with her husband wasn’t something that made her happy. It held her back from living her life. In the original, “Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will–as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under the breath: “free, free, free!” The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.” The reader is given Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts, but only to some extent. They’re told that after the death of her husband, Mrs. Mallard comes to realization that she’s finally free. In both stories, the narrator shows the reader that Mrs. Mallard is full of joy after her husband’s death. One difference is that the retelling shows that joy in more detail.

The main differences between these two stories are the type of narrations. “The Story of An Hour,” is written in third person limited, allowing the reader to know what’s going on in multiple places of the story. “Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, 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.” No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.”  In “My Short Lived Happy Ending,” this part is told in a different view,” Josephine was behind the door shouting,” Louise, open the door! You will make yourself ill!” I ignore her warning. I am not making myself ill. My husband was who made me ill. “Go away! I am not making myself ill!” I shout in reply.” From Louise’s point of view she doesn’t know that her sister is kneeling behind the door, she only sees the room that she’s in.  In the original, the reader is shown both inside and outside of the room.

In writing the retelling of “The Story of An Hour,” the main goal was to give the reader Mrs. Mallard’s point of view. This helps clear up any confusion about what she’s actually feeling, or the reason for her death. Although, the original shows this, it’s not from Mrs. Mallard’s point of view. Her point of view allows the reader to fully understand her true feelings that she develops after she grieved her husband.

Click here for retelling draft.

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draft, Project #1, Week 6

The false freedom

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​My health wasn’t in a perfect condition. I had heart trouble, perhaps caused by living in a male dominated society that offered women limited access to the outside world. However, my husband and I had a happy marriage.

My life was dramatically changed when my sister Josephine and my husband’s friend Richards gave me the lowdown in broken phrases about my husband’s death. They were breaking the news in a gentle, calm manner because of my heart condition. I couldn’t stop crying. I isolated myself in my private room and gave myself a space to consider the damage of losing a husband in a train accident.

I went through a sequence of emotional changes, and I felt empty. I couldn’t imagine the rest of my life without my husband Brently. I was sitting alone in my comfortable chair in my room for a long period facing the window. I gazed outside dreaming of how my life would fall apart and thinking of what would follow the disaster of Brently’s death. The internal struggle gradually intensified inside me and became unbearable- it couldn’t be supported in any capacity by any human being, especially one with heart trouble.

I was looking through my open window to see high trees, blue sky and birds flying and singing freely. I could feel the freshness of spring and smell the fresh dirt after rain falls over it. The view out of my window resuscitated me and I knew I had accept the facts and persevere. I said “life must go on”.

A weird feeling reached out to me while I was in my room. It wasn’t a grieving feeling, it was fearful and falling out of the sky. While trying to adapt to this environment whispered words have flew over and over my slightly parted lips in a quiet voice “free, free, free!”. I started to feel a sudden change. The grief and the internal struggle transformed into joy and happiness. I could see the freedom. I can be in control over my own life and live the upcoming years for myself instead of living them for Brently. Brently tried to be a good, caring husband but he imposes his will upon me and now! There will be no power will upon me. I have freedom and I don’t have to be obeisant to anyone. I enjoyed this new life and I kept whispering “free, body and soul, free!”

My sister Josephine reached out to me and knocked on the closed door saying “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”. I wasn’t ill but I was healing from the illness and the suffering I was experiencing in my married life. It was a relief to know that I can be myself and follow my guts to make personal decisions freely without being told what to do. ” Go away. I am not making myself ill.” I said.

Eventually, I opened the door to my sister and hugged her with wide open arms. I felt the joy of freedom. Josephine could see the happiness of victory and tears of joy flowing over the edge of my eyes. I took the stairs down to where Richards was waiting. We heard the sound of keys in the door lock and realized that someone was trying to open the main door of the house. That was surprising because no one had the house keys except me and my husband. Behind the door Brently Mallard was standing in a perfect shape. Brently was away from the accident and had not even been aware of the train accident.

All the joy and happiness have been taken away from me, and I felt trapped again in a prison that I had struggled to escape from for such a long time. I passed out and they thought that was the joy that makes people unconscious.

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draft, Project #1, Week 6

The Pulse of “Love” and Emotions

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It was a day with a clear blue sky. It was peaceful and I was glad especially knowing that my husband went off on a trip. Why do I say I’m glad? I wonder myself. Love is that sort of feeling of deep affection towards one another or the act of wanting to see someone by your side. Love however is something that I can’t truly define. I love my husband but my love for him fluctuates like my heart beat.

There was somewhat of a commotion downstairs. I questioned myself, what could possibly be going on? So I went downstairs to find out what was going on for myself. Judging by the commotion, I knew something unappealing was coming my way. That “unappealing” thought I had turned out to be my sister Josephine. She however, stood with a troubled and glum look as the beat of my heart slowly began to speed up.

I thought to myself, “Why does she have a depressed look on her face?” Josephine then looked at me with the eyes of a sloth. “What brings you hear with sadness my sister?” I said. As Josephine talked, I saw my husband’s acquaintance, Richards, standing by her. “Your
.husband…Is
.Dead.” she muttered hesitantly. Upon hearing this, I instantly wept into the arms of my sister. Slowly, but surely, I eventually calmed down. As I wiped my tears, I requested to be alone in my quarters. I dispiritedly trotted back up the stairs to my room with my heart beating in sync with my emotions.

I entered my quarters and immediately sat down on my armchair. The chair was very comfortable, as if it was drawing me deeper into its comfort; it felt like a seat of a royal horse drawn carriage. It felt like I was being brought more into the chair. This news I just received only recently, shocked me. The warmth of the chair was soothing and calming not only for my mind, but the beat of my heart.

The scenery was peaceful, the paragon of the spring season. Trees were blooming with new life while the spring rain was pleasurably redolent of that familiar scent. It was quiet here. So quiet, that I could faintly hear the sound someone singing from a distance and the sparrows chirping outside my window. I looked up; there was a serene blue sky filled with clouds that often collide with other incoming clouds to form larger clouds. At this point, my heart had settled down and I was calmed.

I was almost motionless; I shook periodically due to my sobbing. I felt like a sleeping newborn after crying for so long ; however, I felt calm. I exhausted all the stresses that broke me down. I looked away from the clouds thinking to myself, “If my husband is gone doesn’t this mean I’m free to do whatever I please?” Once again, the beat of my heart slowly started to accelerate.

I immediately rose up and fell in the course of that action. “I’m now free.” I thought to myself. I stared at my hands and whispered, “Free, free, free!” I then wept again; however, this feeling was different. “Am I actually happy?” I wondered. After so many years of being confined by this one man, I had finally been released from my chains. I glanced at the sky and spread my arms wide open in happiness. I welcomed the face of freedom into soul. My heart pounded against my chest in such a way that warmed and relaxed every inch of my body.

I acknowledged would be alone. Nobody would be able to hold me back from doing as I please. There wouldn’t be any strength in the world to chain me down and my actions. It felt like a crime to even think about something so distant. My eyes were opened with a flame that would ignite the path to the world I was about to enter. I began to look into my future as my heart raced with the excitement of a child.

I entered a world in I created. It was the utopia I have endlessly been dreaming about for such a long time. A world with no limits and burdens. It was the ideal world I wished for. I tranquilly walked around the empty house with my husband out of my sight. I then raced outside to be greeted by the nature of spring without restrictions to my autonomy. I leaped into the meadow where bright flowers surrounded me as the sparrows continue to chirp. I looked up to the clear blue sky that yielded a more definitive hue of blue than the ocean that surrounds the lands we walk on and thought, “this is what true freedom looks like.” I slowly closed my eyes and snapped back to reality. My world, the real world, and now the beat of my heart now resonated as they begin to fuse.

I then heard the voice of Josephine behind the door. “Louis, open the door!” she stammered. “I beg; open the door! You’ll make yourself ill. What are you doing Louise? For heavens sake open the door!” “Go away. I am not making myself ill” I calmly told her. I was consumed by mu dream of the utopia I longed for. “Free! Body and soul free!” I murmured repeatedly. Spring days, Summer days, Fall nights, Winter nights. All of those would be mine. I help possession of my future days and nobody else had any authority over that. I prayed for a long life, which was something that I never could’ve hoped for in the past. With that prayer, my heart continued its acceleration.

I now stood up and proceeded to open the door where my sister was kneeling behind. I looked at her with the eyes of a soldier who came back from a victorious battle. I treaded towards her and clasped my sister’s waste. With that, we proceeded to go back down the stairs. Freedom was the only thing on my mind. My heart raced faster than a Kentucky Saddler. The sight of Richards waiting for us at the bottom was the finish line. My heart raced faster and faster wanting to reach the line.

As we went down step by step, I heard the sound of a door opening. I look towards the source of the sound was coming from and I see the front door slowly open. A bright light quickly entered into the room through the door and slightly blinded my vision. I closed my eyes and opened them again only to see the brightness slowly fading away. There was a shadowy figure standing in front of me. “Don’t tell me what I think it is.” I screamed in my mind, “No no no no! My freedom! I felt the chains slowly come back for me and my heart raced even faster. My sense joy now turned into fear and confusion. As the shadowy figure came closer into visibiliy, my heart felt different. I felt weak and I begin to drop down, carrying my sister along with me. I heard a piercing scream that also brought my heart to a sudden stop. My eyes began to slowly close shut at the image of my husband, Brently Mallard. It was the joy that kills.

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draft, Week 6

My Short lived Happy Ending

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I finish my meal and walk towards the kitchen, when I hear the doorbell ring. I slowly walk to the door. Due to my heart trouble, I try not to overwork myself. When I open the door, it was my sister Josephine and my husband’s friend, Richards. I invite them in, but they both have a gloomy look on their faces. My sister starts to talk, “Louise, Richards was at the newspaper office when he heard of the railroad disaster.” I nod, wondering what does this have to do with me. She seems to be speaking in broken sentences, and I can hear grief in her voice. As she continues, her voice gets high pitched and cracks, “Among the names of those killed, was Brently.”

What? The immeasurable pain struck me like a lightning bolt. I immediately scream at the news and threw myself into Josephine’s arms crying. I can’t believe it. My poor husband has been killed. I continue to cry until the grief eased up.  I walked to my room, having no one follow me.

When I go into my room, I quickly locked the door behind me and proceeded to the window. I stood at the open window, and sank into the comfortable armchair behind me. My exhaustion troubled me. I observe the landscape outside the window. The tops of the trees are shaking; it must be the new spring life. I take a deep breath and sense the rain in the air. Below in the street, is a peddler. Above, the blue sky is showing in patches due to the clouds that piled up together.

I throw my head back on the cushion of the chair, and remain motionless, except for a sob that came up from my throat and caused me to shake. Why? Why did this have to happen to him? To me?

I thought to myself. I’m a young woman, for my face is clear and calm, the lines on my face show a sign of strength.

Then, I started to feel something come to me. I don’t know what it was, but I feel it creeping up towards me through the sounds, scents, and colors that filled the air.

Now that my husband is gone, I have no one to limit me on my actions. I rise from the chair, and fall back down. I begin to feel empowerment, excitement even. Most women that I know would never feel such a way after their husband’s death. ”Free, free, free!” I begin to whisper. My pulses start to race. The terror which had overwhelmed me has dissolved.

I had loved Brently sometimes, though I often did not. I tried to shake that thought out of my head because it doesn’t matter anymore. I knew that once I see my husband at the funeral, in his coffin just lying there, I would grieve once again, but subsequently, the years that I have left will belong to me and no one else. I welcome the time I will have. That power that my husband had that bended my own is now gone. Love is an unresolved mystery, which can’t count for the possession of self-assertion that I have just been given access to.

I started to whisper again,” Free! Body and soul free!”

Josephine was behind the door shouting,” Louise, open the door! You will make yourself ill!” I ignore her warning. I am not making myself ill. My husband was who made me ill. “Go away! I am not making myself ill!” I shout in reply.

I think of the days to come, spring and summer days, and all types. All of these days will be my own. I took a deep breath, praying that life may be long.

I finally get up from the chair, and open the door to my sister. I grab her waist and walked down the stairs with her. My newly found freedom has filled me with life. Richards was still here waiting at the bottom.

Then, as we reached the bottom stair, someone opened the front door with a key. My terror returned at the sight of the figure that entered. It was Brently. My heart begins to race and I feel a horrible pain in my chest. I grab my chest and fall, then just pure darkness.

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Homework, Week 1

HomeWork #1

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In “The Story of An Hour,” the protagonist, Mrs. Mallard, is informed about the railroad disaster where her husband was killed. She is immediately devastated. “She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone.” After Mrs. Mallard enters her room, she sat into the arm chair facing the open window. As she observes the landscape, she felt something possessing her. She began to whisper, “free, free,  free!” She came into realization that she was free, free from her husband, who probably prevented her from living her life the way she pleased. In the end, Mr. Mallard walks through the door. At the sight of her husband, Mrs. Mallard dies.

In “A Jury of Her Peers,” the protagonist Mrs. Wright, or Minnie Foster before her marriage, has murdered her husband. The cause of this I assume was because just as Mr. Mallard, Mr. Wright prevented his wife from living how she wanted to. Mrs. Hale finds Mrs. Wright’s bird with a broken neck, wrapped in silk. The bird used to sing along with Mrs. Wright, which was something she loved to do as Minnie Foster. As her husband probably despised this, he wrung the neck of the bird to prevent it from ever singing again. This was the same exact way Mr. Wright died, from his neck. Mrs. Wright probably wanted her husband to feel the pain of that what her bird felt.

I judge the two protagonists differently. Mrs. Mallard’s husband was killed in an accident, while Mrs. Wright’s husband was murdered. The settings of both stories seem to be around the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Today women have more rights than they did at the time of these stories. Reading them today gives a clearer understanding of why they reacted the way they did towards their husbands.

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Glossary

Importunities

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Importunities  noun \ˌim-pər-ˈtĂŒ-nə-tē, –ˈtyĂŒ-\

a: an importunate (troubesembly urgent/annoyance) request or demand

She arose at length and opened the door to her sister’s importunities.

The Story of An Hour paragraph 10

Importunities looks like the word important and although the of the words definition meant annoying urgency I thought it just meant her sisters urgency was important.

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