The Yellow Wallpaper: The Room That Was Good for Her

A room prescribed

John says this room will make me well. The windows have bars. He says they are for children.

He knows best

He is my husband, and a doctor. When I ask for the room downstairs, he smiles as though I have asked for something foolish.

Between footsteps

No work. No visitors who might excite me. No writing. I keep these pages hidden, and write when his footsteps fade.

Something out of place

There is nothing to study but the wallpaper. Its yellow loops climb into one another, then break off where they ought to join.

The answer is no

I ask John to change it. He says giving in would only encourage me. The paper stays. So do I.

After the lamp goes out

In daylight, it is merely ugly. By moonlight, the pattern looks like bars. Behind them, I begin to make out a woman.

What I tell him

She seems to shake the pattern, trying to get through. I watch until morning. When John comes, I tell him I slept.

A quieter patient

He says I look better. I have stopped asking to leave. There is something in the wall I must understand before we go.

Only when alone

When I am alone, the woman returns. I lean closer. Is she caught in the pattern, or am I making a woman out of shadows?

The last night

Tomorrow we leave the house. I lock the door. The woman behind the paper must not be left here.

Under the pattern

I pull. A strip comes loose. I pull again. By morning, the floor is covered, but I have not seen anyone step out.

Someone at the door

John knocks. I tell him the key is outside, under a leaf by the path. While he fetches it, I keep moving along the wall.

Out at last

When he opens the door, I tell him I am out at last. He looks at me, then falls across the path I have been following.

The open door

Now I must creep over him each time I go around. The door is open. I keep following the wall.