Story Of An Hour: A Short Story

It was an early spring day, and there she was, Mrs. Mallard, sitting in her well-lit at home office while the kids were at school, staring emotionlessly at her laptop screen. Mrs. Louise Mallard heard knocking on her office door, rather quickly standing up from her chair, she walked peacefully to the door and pulled it open. Her sister Josephine was standing outside, a different look of panic flashed in her eye. Josephine told her sister to take a seat, because she had something very important to say. Telling Mrs. Mallard the news about Brently Mallard’s death was not very easy for Josephine because she was afraid her sister would die from heart break, after all Mrs. Mallard did have a severe heart condition. The news came out incomplete and
hard to comprehend since Josephine was crying while trying to talk, any of what Josephine said hardly made any type of sense to Louise Mallard. Attempting to interpret her sister’s words she stood up and asked her sister to please go and give her time to think alone in her room. As Josephine hesitantly walked slowly toward the room door, Mrs. Mallard stood confused with the feelings that are slowly building inside of her. The fear that her husband must have had when his plane had helplessly dropped out of the mid-day sky seemed to echo somewhat inside of her, with chill bumps creeping onto the surface of her skin.
The sound of the door closing snap Louise out of her daze and she just watched her sister close the door behind her and as she did so, a tear slowly rolled down onto her cheek. She walked to the window and looked outside of it. The busy streets of the Los Angeles area were buzzing with life which seemed not to have a worry in the world for her or for her husband’s early, unplanned death. There she stood, watching the surfers surf, and the taxi drivers honk their horns. A large grin crept its way onto her face with tears of happiness rolling down her cheek. “Free at last!” she exclaimed through a soft whisper. “Free, free, free.” After pondering over the death of her undesirable husband for an hour or so, she finally carried herself to the living room where her gathered family and friends had patiently waited to know the health of her well-being. As Louise slowly walked down the steps of her beautiful mediterranean-style home, Mrs. Mallard listened as her guests whimper with mournful cries for their now lost loved one. She entered into the living room with a miserable role on her face, when she heard the front door push
open. There stood Mr. Brently Mallard, standing in his perfect business suit and tie, perfectly dressed with no physical damage with the exception of the bags under in his that were created by stress and exhaustion. Fortunately he had missed the plane to New York that would have lead him to his death and instead had a normal day in the office.