Story-Telling

http://www.sarahmacwright.com/notes/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/ophelia.jpg

1. What is the first thing you notice in this photograph?

The dead woman.

2. Do you think the woman is dead or alive? If she is alive, what kind of emotions does she appear to be experiencing?

On the verge of death. She is experiencing no emotions

3. At what time of day do you think this photograph was taken?

in the morning, because she is in some sort of pajama or nightgown, and the light is not from above, the sun is not high in the sky it is low, which would mean it is either the morning or afternoon but most people do not wear their nightgowns in the afternoon

4. What are the light sources in this photograph?

two lamps, windows from both walls

5. How would you describe the environment or room here?

filled with water, but otherwise orderly

6. What objects do you see on the steps leading upstairs?

slippers

7. Is the female subject wearing shoes?

no

8. The title of this piece is “Ophelia.” Do some quick research… what is the history of the name “Ophelia” in literature?

Ophelia was a female character in Shakespeare's "Hamlet." Ophelia, in the play, was driven to almost insanity from a broken heart and towards the end of the play, climbs on a branch of a tree and, as the branch breaks, falls into the water and drowns. She also takes rue, which is an herb that used to be used for giving an abortion, which may have suggested that was pregnant and was mildly suicidal. Rue is also symbolic of regret.

Short Story:

It was late, but the news that Mary was bringing was good, oh it was more than good. Walking home from the doctor's, she thought she could feel it inside of her, or maybe it was just her premature optimism. Her hand was almost shaking from a concoction of emotions, and she stepped into her house, already picturing the potential outcomes of when she would tell her husband of the news. She walked upstairs, but on top of her heavy breathing and the slight creaking of the staircase, she could hear something else...no. No it couldn't be...but it was....she heard the noises of a woman? Oh yes, she was quite sure now, her husband was cheating on her. She stopped and stood there, almost like a dear in front of headlights, she felt like she had just swallowed an unchewed tortilla chip that was scraping her throat on its way down. She turned, tears turning her cheeks into a waterfall, and lay down on the downstairs couch, crying herself to sleep. How could she deal with this? It was late, but the news was wrong, so terribly wrong for the occasion. Dreading the following morning like it was her execution, she envied the soundness of sleep her child was getting inside of her.

When she woke up, he was gone. She had checked upstairs, she checked the basement. He and that woman had vanished. She called him, at work, on his cell, even his parents, but nobody knew where he had gone. She was in one of those movies, she thought, where by the end when everything is so messed up and crazed you are unable to even imagine how nice the beginning was. Yes, this was the end, she thought. She entered her room and took of her jeans and shirt, for they were a present from her husband. She slipped on her nightgown, and found the sleeping pills in her bathroom She grabbed the bottle of vodka that her husband kept on the night-stand. She moved downstairs, but yet she saw herself, as if she had no control over her actions, but was an imprint of a long-lost woman once alive, as if she was already dead before she died. She laid her slippers on the stairs, and spread herself across on the floor. She rubbed her stomach, regretting that her child would never be able to see the light of day, but feared what kind of life it would have if that light ever reached it. She poured the pills in her mouth, letting some spill on the ground around her, and drank. She let one last tear slip, and as it did it seemed to fill the room with water, slowly engulfing her and her baby, taking them down to a place from which they shall never return.