A Rose for Emily Creative Writing Essay Example

A Rose for Emily Creative Writing Essay Example A Rose for Emily Creative Writing Essay A Rose for Emily Creative Writing Essay Essay Topic: Creative This is the point of view of the window in the room where Homer Barron was killed. The window is a witness of Emily? s entire life and it is the one who can describe everything that has happened at the moment Emily puts an end to Homer’s existence. In my opinion, this piece of writing can enrich the text because the reader gets a glimpse of the conversation Emily and Homer have before she kills him and what Tobe’s position in her game is. The long room, with its pink walls, was dark and empty, except for all the new furniture that, little by little, Tobe had sneaked in without the neighbours ever quite noticing. And a fine job he had done. The room had never looked half as lovely. I could hear footsteps slowly coming up the stairs and the soft, almost indistinguishable, sound of voices which by the minute grew louder. Finally, the door opened and the lights were turned on. Yes, two people had been climbing the stairs and now I could see who they were. Miss Emily, who night after night, almost religiously, had come to check on the work Tobe was performing, was accompanied by no one less that Homer Barron. Now the old house would have a master once more. To avoid catching the eye of the curious passer-by, Miss Emily drew the curtains, thus rendering me blind, though only partially, for I could still make out their shapes. Being deprived of my sight, I had no other choice than to rely on my hearing. And that I did. â€Å"Emily, what’s all this? I’m quite sure I told you I’m not the type to marry and settle down,† said Homer, almost mockingly. But Miss Emily had made up her mind and she wouldn’t let him walk away. He would be forever bound to this house in the same way she and everyone who had preceded her had been. At last, their fates would be one and the same. Miss Emily stood in front of him, and in a movement I couldn’t quite make out, but that I imagined –and that since the incident, every time I rehash their conversation I still do picture it like that–, placed one long, white, bony finger on top of his lips and said: â€Å"You are not thinking of leaving me now, are you? Surely not now. That is no longer a possibility. † The next thing I heard was a muted thud, as if some heavy weight had been dropped carelessly on the carpeted floor. I wasn’t completely closed, and thanks to a sudden gust of wind, the curtains which were blinding me moved aside, and in a glimpse of vision, I was able to take in the scene before me: Mr Barron lay on the floor and Miss Emily seemed to be undressing him, ever so gently. Through my covered eyes, I was back to seeing shadows and shapes, but I could see her getting back to her feet and placing his suit on top of the chair and, by the noise, I figure she arranged his shoes somewhere nearby. â€Å"Tobe,† she called aloud. Tobe quietly, opened the door and stepped in. What I never liked about the man was that he had that quality of moving around the house as if ghost-like, and you could never be quite sure where he was. â€Å"Yes, ma’am? † â€Å"Put him on the bed and then leave us for the night. We shall not require your services until morning. † Her quiet, her countenance, was enviable. She had always had that air of cool detachment about herself. The mark of a true lady. Or of a true madwoman. â€Å"Yes, ma’am. † Tobe did as he was ordered and started towards the door. Suddenly, however, he turned around and noted my condition. â€Å"Shall I close the window before I leave, ma’am? † â€Å"If you may. Now go, Tobe. Thank you. † After ruining my only chance to see clearly, Tobe left the room, and turned off the lights. â€Å"Now, my love, we are together at last. Together forever. I could not bare the thought of losing you. When you told me you would be leaving town, I ran to the shops and got hold of the only thing that would keep you here, with me. † Miss Emily went on talking to the corpse of Homer Barron until, exhausted, she fell asleep. Among the many things she revealed to him, she said how she’d poisoned the drink she had given him that night, and how she had convinced him of coming up to the room. Morning came the following day, as it had invariably done every day before that one, and the light that filtered through the curtains showed me my mistress asleep on top of the dead body. She had arranged his arms around her, so she could always feel his embrace. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and kissed his guest on the lips once, twice, and then left the room. Night after night, she would always return to her lover. Time passed and no one discovered what she had done. My curtains were never again drawn, but I could feel the paint peeling. I could smell the dust covering every surface it could find. I could sense the dreams of a once young lady who had fallen in love die slowly. And yet my mistress never stopped showing up. She died one night, in his arms. I never had the chance to see her, to bid her goodbye, but I am sure that, in the arms of her beloved, she died with a full heart and a smile upon her lips.