A Rose For Emily By William Faulkner

Nothing of interest was in the room, only dimly lit candles and trunks of old, moth eaten clothes. She felt as if someone, or something, was watching her, waiting to drag me into the shadows. Then there it was it was she was unsure but almost certain it was a ghost. The ghost was a white cloud like figure and its eyes and mouth were as black as the night sky's. It was more silent than the grave it arose from, staring with heavy lidded eyes and a slack mouth..As Emily turned to leave, “Don't go.” said a gentle voice, “we can be such good friends.” A blue-white glow filled the room making her skin appear paper thin. “Who are you” Emily asked in fear “We met the day I turned twelve. At the train station, you sat across from me with a small smile. Our toes could hardly touch the floor then. I remember being so very close with each other, but I don’t know how after what you did to me” Emily shook her head mutely. She'd been here an hour tops, or this was some nightmare. It wasn't real, how could it be. “Stay with me” the ghost repeated as Emily was trying to find a way out. She shook her head. “Why refuse

On September 25, 1897, William Cuthbert Faulkner was born in New Albany, Mississippi. He stands as one of the most preeminent American writers of the twentieth century. His literary reputation included poetry, novels, short stories, and screenplays. Faulkner won two Pulitzer Prizes for Fiction and the Nobel Prize in Literature. “A Rose for Emily” is a short fascinating story written by William Faulkner and it was his first short story published in a national magazine. The story involved an old woman named Emily Grierson, the daughter of a rich man that was considered a hero in the town where they lived. The story takes place in the fictional Town of Jefferson, Mississippi during and after the civil war between the Northerners and Southerners. Emily’s childhood was never easy; her father was always overprotective with her even when she was a grown woman. Charmaine Mosby an English Professor of Western Kentucky University in his work analysis of “A Rose for Emily” writes, “Miss Emily Grierson had been cut off from most social contact and all courtship by her father.” This was the principal reason why Emily Grierson was always a lonely soul.

In the short story “A Rose for Emily”, William Faulkner escorts the reader through the peculiar life of the main character Miss Emily Grierson. The gloomy tone of the story is set by the author beginning his tale with the funeral of Miss Emily. During course of the story, we are taken through different times in Miss Emily’s life and how she was lost in time, with the town around her moving forward. Through the use of southern gothic writing style, narrator point of view, and foreshadowing, Faulkner aids the reader in creating a visualization of Miss Emily and the town in which she lives while also giving an insight into her sanity.

"There is a strange taste in the air. Do you taste it Susan?" asked Jonnie.

Up and over the mossy green hill, an abandoned red barn awaits to be investigated. The hill was steep and blanketed with a sheet of dew, making it a struggle to climb over. Each footing consisted of slips from a squeaky shoe. By the time I was on the other side of the hill, my toes were ice. Heavy breaths of fog left my chapped lips while my feet stumbled across the solid ground. The lone barn was farther than it seemed. I was getting tunnel vision, feeling the grey sky close in on me. Before I knew it, I was at the wooden barn. Time fast forwarded. Perhaps I fell unconscious and was swept and carried away by the frost-bitten breeze that slapped at my cheeks. The cold, unwelcoming invite the barn gave, caused me to shiver more than I already

Emily is faced with a problem -- that is, someone is sneaking into her room and stealing small pieces of jewelry, handkerchiefs, cigarettes, etc. Emily suspects that Mrs. Allen is the culprit and thus visits her room to confront her. While visiting Mrs. Allen, Emily initially displays a sense of respect for the elder Mrs. Allen, complementing her ability to decorate and personalize her room. Emily refrains from disrespectfully “jumping” on Mrs. Allen and does not blatantly accuse her of stealing. Rather, Emily slowly introduces her problem, explaining her dilemma, gradually implying Mrs. Allen’s involvement until she remarks “It has to stop. If it doesn’t, I’ll have to do something about it.”

“Following this thing!”Gianna screamed back. The ghost figure goes through the cemetery and Gianna follows. I ran after Gianna, she was at the end of the cemetery. She stands there in fear. “Gianna? Are you okay?” I asked. No answer. Everything was silent. She stood there, then she fell on her knees. “Gianna? What’s going on?” Still silent. Then I look at what she was looking at. Everywhere she saw there was corpses. “Oh no. Gianna we have to go.” I said. Then I look behind me, there was the white figure. Gianna gets up, she looks, she screams in terror and ran. I followed her through the forest. “Cmon Emily! We have to get out of here!” screamed Gianna. “What is going on Gianna!” “I’ll tell you when we get out of here! Now hurry before that thing comes!” she yelled. I ran as fast as I can, then I tripped over a tombstone, my leg was all scratched up. “Ouch! My leg!” I yelled. Gianna runs towards me, she’s shaking, she puts my arm around her. She tries to run as fast as she can. Emily stumbles to the ground. There it was that white figure. Gianna opens the purple pen, she hopes that something good happens,` but instead of the white figure goes into the pen, I

“It smells so good! I really want to eat some, can I have a taste, please?” My sister asked with big eyes.

A teacher from Emily’s school is the catalyst, appealing to Emily’s mother: “‘I’m sure you can help me understand her. She’s a youngster [...] whom I’m deeply interested in helping’” (Olsen 1). Emily’s mother initially resists, claiming that, even though she is Emily’s mother, she does not have the key to unlock the secrets of her daughter (Olsen 1). However, her mind transports her back in time to contemplate the facets of Emily’s childhood from the moment she proclaims in the first line, “‘I stand here ironing, and what you asked me moves tormented back and forth’”

"But glad you love it, grandma Elaine was working so much on her pretty garden that she saw that the tomatoes grew very well and made the guacamole."

"Ouch!" She yelled out in frustration, "where am I"? There was no reply to be heard. She took out her flashlight (which she ‘borrowed' from her dad) and shone it to get a good look at her surroundings. Emily found herself in a dark and lonely pit. She wasn't too good at math, but she made a fair estimation that it was around three times her height, therefore climbing was not an option. She ruffled through her bag in attempt to find something useful. Her face lit up is it was greeted by a walkie-talkie. She switched her walkie-talkie on and started talking.

"I think I'll find it sooner or later..." I sighed, sitting up and giving a stretch. "Green is our color, right?"

proud of how she and her daughter cleaned the yard, and she continues explaining how it is a

The shiny white reflection of herself in the body stared straight back at her; gazing back deep into her eyes. The immediate liking towards the humanoid was almost instant. Ever since, Emily has grown more and more attached to the hard cold steel that she calls a person. When Emily was four years old she named the humanoid Mr Helper, as any four year old would. She kept this secret from everyone; never spoke a whisper of it except to Mr Helper of course. Humanoids were always seen differently to Emily, she never thought of them as a tool but more like a friend. Even to this day being eight years old, Emily still treats Mr Helper how she did when they first

I gently sit on his empty bed, not wanting to disturb this preserved shadow box. I close my eyes; this is where he would be if he were alive, having a dream he would probably tell me about the next day. I roll onto my side, like he would, and come face to face with the picture on his bedside table — his favorite one of the two of us, the happiest friends in the world, their