【Abstract】：The story of an Hour， written by Kate Chopin， is narrated by heterodiegetic narrator. However， the choice of different narrators has different effects. This passage was narrated by Mrs. Mallard， the main character of this novel. Compared with the narrator the author used in the original novel， there are some different effects. This passage is a novel rewritten based on the original one with some imagination.

【Key words】： Love，;Death，;Life

I died. My sister， Josephine was kneeling before with tears streaming down her face; My husband’s friend Richards was standing there with his respect;My husband was standing there motionlessly， shocked and confused， because all of this came suddenly. He even had no time to ask what had happened. He just heard the doctor said that I had died of heart disease—of the joy that kills， as he knew I was afflicted with a heart trouble， but he didn’t know what the joy was even if he knew something from my sister or his friend. However， he still couldn’t understand the joy， never.

When I was young， I was charming and had dozens of suitors who loved me and who I loved. My husband， Mr. Mallard， was a businessman. We got married for 20 years. "I didn’t know if I loved him， but I knew he is rich. I thought I could lead a happy life.

After marriage， I was a traditional woman like any other women. We had our first baby， the second， and the third. I stayed at home every day and tried to take care of my husband and my kids as if I came to the earth just because of them. During the 20 years， I was happy when my husband or my kids felt happy and sad when they were sad.

Actually， I had never felt happy in my life. I was tired of doing these kinds of things， but I had no choice. I was a wife; I should do these things as a wife should do.

One day， nothing special， suddenly， I heard my sister， Josephine， called me.

“What’s wrong？” I asked her impatiently.

“Richards…was at the newspaper office. News of the accident came. Louise， Brently’s name was on the list. Brently…was killed.” She spoke in broken sentences.

I felt a sharp pain in my heart. I even didn’t know what kind of reflections I should have.Eventually， I cried out， because I thought this was a wife should do when she heard such kind of bad news. Josephine hugged me tightly and I cried louder and louder， which I had never done like this in the past， becausethere were no happy things or even sad things. I cried， cried， cried…

When the storm of grief had spent itself， I went away to my room alone.

There stood， facing the open window， a comfortable， roomy armchair. Into this I sank， and looked out of the window. I felt physically exhausted after my tears. My body felt cold; my mind and heart were empty. Outside the window I could see the grass， the trees， and the nameless flowers， which looked like more beautiful than any other day.

The delicious breath of rain was in the air. I heard a peddler was crying his wares. Birds sang. Blue sky showed between the clouds. I looked at all that I hadn’t appreciated in the past as if I have forgotten what had happened before. However， my composure regained. I remembered that my husband had died.

I sat upon the cushion of the chair， with a few weak tears falling down. I looked out of the window at blue sky. Suddenly， I felt that a strong power was reaching me， reaching my body， and even my soul. I didn’t know what it was， too subtle and mysterious. It was seemingly embedded in the sound， the smell， and the air. It was too powerful to fight with even if I was striving to beat it back with my will. I heard someone was saying， “free， free， free！” with a louder and louder voice. My pulses beat fast， and the blood warmed and relaxed every inch of my body.

A sudden feeling of joy held me. The voice was never stopping. I even could see freedom clearly， which made me exalted without thinking something trivial. However， I knew I should weep again when I saw the body before me， dead and still. Nevertheless， the voice was always around me and flooded into my ears. I couldn’t control. Eventually， I was conquered by the voice， by the feeling， by the freedom. Unconsciously， I spoke out， “free， free， free！” along with the voice.

I saw my future. There would be no one to live for. It would just belong to me. I would just live for myself. There would be no powerful will bending me. I could do what I want. I could have my own happiness and sorrow. Maybe I could have a job and friends. I began to hope life would be long， although it was only yesterday that life seemed so long to me！

“Louise， open the door！ I beg;Open the door—you will make yourself ill. Louise…”

“Go away. I won’t make myself ill.” I was longing to live longer and I knew I would because I was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window and spread my arms out to the coming days， spring days， summer days and all the days that would be my own.

I arose at length and opened the door to my sister’s importunities. I was full of hopefulness and joy of victory. I clasped my sister’s waist， and we descended the stairs together. Richards waited for us at the bottom.

Someone was opening the door. Suddenly， I saw Brently Mallard enter， even if Richards tried his best to move quickly to stand between us. He looked dirty and tired， carrying a suitcase and an umbrella. He was not killed in the accident. He stood surprised at Josephine’s sudden cry.

I felt a strong attack to my heart. Then I died. When the doctors came they said I had died of heart disease because of an intolerable joy. However， they didn’t know what the joy was， including my sister， Richards， my husband， and doctors.I did nothing for myself， but I died for myself. I ended my life for my inner voice， for the freedom， for real love.

Reference：

A Story of an Hour， written by Kate Chopin

Kate Chopin， born Katherine O'Flaherty （February 8， 1850 – August 22， 1904）， was a U.S. author of short stories and novels.