Yeller' Wallpaper (Rewrite of the Yellow Wallpaper)

Rewrite of the Yellow Wallpaper (BY CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN) in the wallpaper's perspective.

 

Yellow Wallpaper: Rewrite in Wallpapers Perspective.

 

Until recently there has been an absence in my room, noting but the cold steel

 

bars on the glass windows and the belted down bed in the corner of the room to keep me

 

company. Then came the women. She just sits there, sleeping most of the day. At night

 

however she is very active. Just sitting they’re staring. I have been constantly puzzled at

 

just what she is staring at, but now I am certain of what she is staring at. She is staring at

 

me.

           

I’m not sure why she does it, maybe the boredom of being in that confined space

 

every moment of every day is getting to her. Sometimes I she her quarreling with her

 

husband about going away for a while. She is never successful though. Although she

 

doesn’t so any sign of distress from this I think that it troubles her deeply. The

 

concentration of her staring is so extreme that even throughout the night when the

 

telephone would sound its vibrant ring, she wouldn’t bat an eye as if there was total

 

silence.

           

The only time during in the day she is awake is to write in her journal. She never

 

misses a chance to write in it. Her husband would not be happy if he knew of this, he is

 

constantly telling her that it will drive her to insanity. He constantly tells her to be still

 

and rest. With his medical expertise, he was well educated in these matters. Though his

 

medical training was limited to a general knowledge of her disease and the common

 

knowledge of how to properly treat it. 

           

This has been going on for the last two weeks with no change in her daily

 

schedule. Tonight is the first day of the third week and her behavior has still not

 

changed. It is really starting to frighten me. I thought about trying to make contact with

 

her, so one day I tried and just as I was about to make contact, she said something.

           

“Don’t worry. I am going to get you out of there. Don’t be scared. I will release

 

you when time permits.” Said the women.

           

This small bit of dialogue greatly escalated my fear. Was she talking to me? Or

 

was she talking to herself? I am convinced now that I have to communicate with her, for

 

my own safety. In my effort to communicate with her, I would spread my stinky, yellow,

 

essence across the room, going across the furniture as she slept. She seems to notice it. 

 

She stares at it almost as intensely as she does me. I hope that she will take this as a sign

 

to leave me alone, as if my essence was an omen.

           

My hopes where not fulfilled however as this just escalated her obsession to a

 

new level. She seems as if she is preparing for something mischievous. Always

 

checking the door as if someone will come in at any second. As if she was a prisoner

 

digging here way out of a jail cell. My fear is at an all time height now as nightfall is

 

now upon me.

           

“Its time to set you free.” The woman suddenly says and walks toward me.

           

She then, without warning, grabbed my paper and began to rip at it. Tearing strip

 

after strip. Gouging away at me as if I was an orange being peeled. She ripped so

 

consistently and Without any sign of stopping it was if she was possessed by the many

 

wretched souls that have boarded in this room in its past. My figure at this point was

 

now disfigured greatly most of me lying on the floor in messy torn pieces. It was like a

 

new world now in which I saw from. The world of the ceiling that I now could see and

 

the world of the room from the strips still untouched were combined into one. It was if I

 

had gained a new knowledge of my world and its surroundings. Though I knew soon

 

enough all of my paper would be strewn about the floor and the combined worlds would

 

separate leaving me in this new perspective that I know saw

 

my world from lying here on the floor.

           

Suddenly there was a knocking at the door of the room. The husband’s voice

 

became abundantly clear as he yelled for his wife to open the door. She did not stop her

 

disfiguring of me however and began to pick up her pace, frantically wanting to rid the

 

wall of me. Once she was done tearing my remaining strips from the wall she turned

 

toward the door and spoke to her husband.

           

“John dear!” She said in a voice that seemed completely calm and sane, “The key

 

is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf!”

           

This seemed to calm him down for a moment. Then there was nothing but

 

complete silence.

           

“Open the door my darling” He said very quietly. Probably trying to calm down,

 

seeing as how his wife did not seem to be in any serious trouble.

           

“I can’t,” She said. From my new perspective I could no longer she here and I

 

wondered if this was really the truth or if she just wished to be alone, and to be rid of his

 

presence.

           

“The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!” She said once more.

           

Apparently understanding her now, and realizing that her words were calm and

 

sane, he went downstairs to look for the key.  I know that he was going downstairs for I

 

could here the clip-clop of his feet against the old creaky wood of the steps as he

 

descended them. Time went by rather slow until he returned. I sat there scared of what

 

would become of me. Now that I was in pieces I was useless. Perhaps they would throw

 

me away. Worst of  all my fears though is that they would burn me, right into oblivion. I

 

sat there for what seemed like an eternity until I heard the clip-clop of his feet that

 

announced his return.

           

“What is the matter,” he said when he slammed open the door. “For God’s safe,

 

what are you doing?”

           

She did not answer him. Then she just slowly walked away from him as if he

 

wasn’t even there, almost as if she was creeping away from her prison. After she was out

 

of my newly acquired sight she finally spoke.

           

“I’ve got out at last, in spite of you and Jane.” She screamed with a passion. 

 

“And I have pulled of the paper so you can never put me back.”

           

Then I heard a thump of something falling to the floor, and then the clip-clop of

 

the somebody descending the stairs. I sat there the rest of the night, just staring up at the

 

wall. Nights then turned into weeks with no sign of the couple. 

 

I never saw her or her husband ever again, and was left to lie in the floor. Never

 

knowing the truth of just what had happened that night.