Esther heard the phone ringing as she turned down the side walk from the alley and entered the back yard. Unhurried she leaned her bike against the house, her usual spot just behind the lilac bush and before the cellar. She pulled the canvas bag of groceries from the basket and headed for the back door. The cell phone in her hip pocket sounded, a text message had arrived. She ignored it. She pulled the screen door open, twisting, she pivoted far enough to shove the back door open with a generous hip and let the door roll across her shoulders. She entered the kitchen with a complete 360 degree turn letting the screen door slam behind her. Esther crossed the worn linoleum floor from door to table in three long strides, dropped the bag on the table top and reached for the phone. “Hello?” she said then realized the black hand-set was only half way to her ear. “Hello?” It was actually in place. Wrinkling her nose she closed her eyes to concentrate on the call. “Hello?” Only the dial tone answered back. Puzzled, she placed the receiver back in its cradle on the wall. Esther pulled a chair out, sat down, and heeled her tennis shoes off. Reaching behind she tugged the cell phone from her left pocket and placed it on the table next to the groceries. Then she reached around and pulled the iPhone from her right pocket and laid it in line with the other. From her purse she produced a small Motorola flip phone which she opened and checked for messages before she laid it down. Ten o’clock and I haven’t started the painting yet she thought. Esther looked at the door to the back bedroom. Just inside the back door and off of the kitchen she was turning the room into a home office, a sanctuary where she could pour over pap... ... middle of paper ... ...“Miss Esther?” Axil interrupted her muse. He stood straining in the doorway with a pair of heavy 63” panes in his arms. “Should I put these on the porch for now?” He balanced the bulk on his thigh just above his left knee. The top barely cleared the curtain rod as he leaned back with the effort to hold its weight. The Westminster chimes rang from the living room. The familiar 16 notes followed by two strokes. It seemed like the firehouse whistle had just blown announcing noon. The groceries were still in the kitchen. The iPhone burped to life. A message eliminated its face. ‘Ur mother called.’ Her eyes played over the top of the night stand. Behind the phones, next to the dog eyed paperback, sat a framed photo. It was one of the few gifts she had received from her sister, a picture of their mother, youthful and happy, smiling with her whole face.
Although, for her, she has nothing more to focus on she trusts her imagination to pass the time. Over time she becomes more and more obsessed with the yellow wallpaper, which leaves her in shock. “The wallpaper becomes a projection screen of the narrator growing fright.” (Berman, p.47) This means that the narrator goes to herself on the wall. The isolated woman in the yellow paper is her own reflection. Something that the narrator still does not realize, she only feels the need to release the woman trapped in the wall. She refers to her room as a prison continuously. As she begins to feel isolated she projects her feelings on the yellow wallpaper, but the idea that the room is her prison goes from figurative to reality as insulation deepens her need to escape in some way. “Every time the narrator speaks, she is interrupted and contradicted until she begins to interrupt and contradict herself.” (Berman, p.55) She has her own plan for recovery. But unfortunately, her husband does not listen. For him, the only
Before even truly greeting her mother and sister, Dee takes photo after photo, artfully framing every shot with both her mother and the house that she loathes, but never allowing herself to be in the picture. This was D...
The room is silent, lit by a single flickering candle, and the shine of a full moon through the window. Candy and George are sitting in the bunkhouse seemingly lost in their own thoughts. It’s been 24 hours since Lennie and Curley's wife have passed, but the tension is still heavy in the air for many folks. Georges eyes drooped low, slightly watered at the rims. Curley, sitting on the other side of the room, stared blankly at the candle with an expressionless face. George jerked quickly towards Candy.
“Please put the box of dishes in the kitchen,” the woman said, enthusiastically gesturing toward a tiny but inviting, bright yellow room. “Oh! and that lamp goes in the living room!”
Nausea and fear flooded my veins, churning my stomach into a bubbling pot of anxiety. Heat spread across my face surely turning it a bright noticeable shade of red. Thick wads of saliva ran down my throat. Sweat traced its way down the back of my neck. The smells of coffee and sandwiches overwhelmed my senses. My eyes darted around the table from one parent to the next. Bright white light illuminated the street outside the window making the three people around me look like nothing more than black shadows. Dad, who sat across from me, cleared his throat. He studied me with a sense of pride, he looked more like he was glowing, but his gaze shifted to my mom, my real mom, and that look got a little more hostile.
Her husband forbids her to do anything, particularly write, so she keeps a diary in secret. She writes that when John comes in, she must hastily put the diary away, as he hates for her to write a word (Harper, 1999, p.1736). Her husband’s sister, Jennie, tends to her and the nanny takes care of their baby boy. As her condition worsens, the woman becomes more obsessed with the wallpaper, trying to trace its patterns and becoming convinced that someone is trapped inside, a woman who is trying to get out.
John prescribes rest for her and places her into a room which is covered in yellow wallpaper that she finds repulsive. One thing that is very important is how the room used to be a nursery. This is ironic because she is almost treated as a...
The phone fell from the woman's hand, landing with a loud crash on the tile floor and busting to pieces. No matter how hard she'd try, she couldn't help the sobs that escaped from her mouth. They became louder and louder, until suddenly they came to a stop. All emotion flooded from her body, and she lay there motionless on the tile. Her two young children hovering over her, fear evident in their eyes. She sat up, grabbing her two young children into her arms, hugging them tighter than she ever had.
It was a Monday night; I remember it like it was yesterday. I had just completed my review of Office Administration in preparation for my final exams. As part of my leisure time, I decided to watch my favorite reality television show, “I love New York,” when the telephone rang. I immediately felt my stomach dropped. The feeling was similar to watching a horror movie reaching its climax. The intensity was swirling in my stomach as if it were the home for the butterflies. My hands began to sweat and I got very nervous. I could not figure out for the life of me why these feelings came around. I lay there on the couch, confused and still, while the rings continued. My dearest mother decided to answer this eerie phone call. As she picked up, I sat straight up. I muted the television in hopes of hearing what the conversation. At approximately three minutes later, the telephone fell from my mother’s hands with her faced drowned in the waves of water coming from her eyes. She cried “Why?” My Grandmother had just died.
Nate went to the music room and dialed first his mom's cell and then his dad's, but got an out of area message for both. Now he knew why his mom wouldn't give up their landline. It was the only way to get a connection between her and her parents. He dialed their home phone, but got the answering machine. He didn't want to worry his parents and just left a message that he had called and that they should call back if they got a chance.
The lights were on. The phone was unplugged. The radio was unplugged. The radiator was unplugged. So was the T.V. Only the lights were plugged in. I whispered with my friends until about 4:00 in the morning, considerably calmer. The phone rang. Stupidly, I picked up. “Hello?” I called. “I’m coming for you.” The events began to unravel again, similar but worse than the time before when only I could know what was happening. The girl wanted all of us now. The lights turned off, the air grew chill, the phones rang, classical music switched on, the radiator made noise, and the little girl was coming out from behind the curtain. Slowly she emerged. My friends’ eyes were wide. “You were right!” one shouted. One threw up. Her knife was glittering in the moonlight. She raised it and I felt the suspense dragging me down. I felt the icy cold blade hit my stomach and felt a warm sensation. Blackness. That’s all I saw. Pure plain
It was late in the afternoon and they arrived in a small cul-de-sac parked in the driveway of fair sized two-story home. Merit's mother was already inside talking to his Aunt Delia in the den. The front door was left wide open for Merit and his dad to bring in the suitcases. As Merit walked up the stoop, the first thing he saw was a stairway with light beige carpet that stretch up to the second floor.
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.
The house phone started to ring. “We have a house phone?” I questioned myself rubbing my eyes giving off a weary sigh. When did I fall asleep? I headed downstairs and it stopped. Again it rang and I guessed it was on the bottom shelf hence lack of usage. Pulling off the dusty cloth I grasped the telephone and answered.
I could hear the home phone ringing as climbed up the basement stairs, out of breath and sweating; I’d just gotten off the treadmill. It’s nearly 10:00pm, weird time to call, I thought. My parents were at some formal event at the country club. Maybe Dad got a flat on the way home. I answered the phone to hear my Aunt Susie’s voice: “Have you spoken to your grandmother today?”