The Eleventh Hour

As Brently Mallard walked down the path to his home, he couldn't help but gaze at the "tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street a peddler was crying his wares." Brently began to sing. His voice was rich and melodic, wafting through the streets. The "countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves," harmonizing with his sweet song. He had been away from home for so long, too long... and it felt strange going down the pathway home. The freedom of being away was refreshing, and the space he had gotten had been desperately needed. However, Brently did miss Mrs. Mallard, somewhat anyway. He hoped that she was in satisfactory health and that all was well. Inhaling the fresh spring air, he couldn't avoid the cloudy thought of the symbolic drought that he knew he was walking towards.

Brently heard more yells of the street peddler. Now he approached the peddler's wagon, drawn by a mangy mule. The peddler man's appearance was much like that of his own mule. He rattled of the contents in his wagon as Brently passed by. Smiling at the old peddler, he couldn't help but take a curious peek into the wagon. He looked at the various pots, pans, and old treasures that few appeared to have desired. His eye caught the sight of something fluttering in the far back corner of the wagon. It was a sparrow in a tiny brass cage. The bird seemed awkward and highly agitated about its unjust confinement. It continued to flap its wings in frantic hopes of an escape. It flapped violently, and then stopped, panting for air. Brently felt an odd affinity towards the small helpless bird. Buying it from the peddler, he resumed his walk home, carrying the bird along the way. He was considerably pensive as he listened to the bird's mad chatter.

Brently couldn't understand why he had experienced more joy being away from home than he had being home. The day he walked away was the most liberating day he'd ever known. His job brought him the perfect, timely escape. "Free, Free, Free!" Now, the feeling of guilt knocked at the door of his conscience. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't abstain from answering this symbolic door and opening it wide. He felt uncomfortable because he knew that it was time for change. He resolved in his heart and soul to seek amends and restoration with his wife. Sure, no marriage was perfect, or even capable of any level of such perfection. There was surely failures and mishaps on both ends of the marital relationship. There was a time in the past when he had fallen into domineering and controlling tendencies which surely had caused her to retreat into her own internal vices. He truly did still love her no matter how much of a divide there had seemed to be before he had left. She was indeed a strong, beautiful woman, meant to be prized. It was a wonder how she had been able to survive so many lonely days without a shoulder to lean on for emotional support or acknowledgement. How had she endured such hardship and uncertainties of her husband's whereabouts? She surely must have felt powerless and confined all these months. Brently's latchkey seemed to burn through the inside of his pocket, his thigh feeling the warmth from it. The bird in the brass cage panted as if it were thirsty. The sparrows in the trees sang louder as if they were bragging about their freedom. Brently suddenly was struck with the thought that he had never heard his wife sing; it began to make sense why this may have been the case.

Moments ago, Brently had been dreading the idea of going home. However, now he was beginning to anticipate his reunion. They needed a new bond, or renewal, and he hoped that she felt the same way. His clumsy feet hit the front steps of his house. Excitedly, he shoved the latchkey into the door. He "entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella." A handsome smile on his face, invigorating life in his heart, he entered. Instead of hearing joyful cries of welcome, he was shocked by a piercing scream. Brently dropped his few dusty belongings, reacting fast. Before his beautiful wife could hit the floor, he caught her her limp, pale body in his arms, quite dramatically. Brently's head shook, as he dissolved into penitent tears. Their worlds had finally meshed into one and slipped apart within seconds. He placed the latchkey into her hands and squeezed it shut as tight as he could. Though no matter how hard he pressed the key into her hand, the gift of freedom was all too late. Between the trauma of being dropped, and the sound of the screaming, the bird was able to finally escape through the busted open cage door. But just before the bird could fly out the front door, it dropped stiffly to the ground in pure shock. Brently knew instantly that it died—"of joy that kills."