Ok, I did this for Honors English. We had to write an
alternate ending to Jane Eyre, and I figured I might as well put it up
here. It's very funny to me, because it's extremely melodramatic,
but I suppose if you're judging purely on content it's rather
tragic. Compared to what some of the other people in my class
wrote, however, Jane got off easy in mine. One girl got points
taken off for grossness. I believe cannibalism was
involved. Anyway, read if you wish.
The End of Jane Eyre
I walked around the orchard wall with my heart beating wildly. Peeking shyly around the pillar, I beheld Thornfield for the first time in a year. My heart thrilled at the sight of the abode of my beloved, but the warm feeling quickly cooled to perplexity and apprehension at the unnatural stillness of the great house.
Timorously, I approached the silent Thornfield. I perceived, as I drew nearer, that the front door was thrown wide open. My curiosity aroused, I quietly crossed the gaping threshold. Inside, all was dark, but my roving eyes fell on a set of footprints threading through the dust. My feet traced the path while my mind raced. Could this be Mr. Rochester?
As I ascended to the third story, a warm glow caught my attention. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs as I approached the room from which the glow emanated. Glancing around the door frame, I found the room empty, but a fire danced merrily in the grate. I walked to the fireplace and stared for a moment into the flickering flames.
While I was thus engaged, a creaking behind me caused me to turn abruptly. I beheld the most fearsome parody of human nature, Bertha Rochester. In my terror, I grabbed the first weapon that came to hand, a poker for the fire. Bertha advanced slowly, her bloodshot eyes burning with hate. I backed away, holding the poker before me, trying to edge myself unobtrusively to the door.
Above the mantle, two old sabers were crossed; Bertha snatched one down, at the same time plucking a burning branch from the grate. All the while her terrible red eyes stared directly at me. Finding myself in a position to reach the door, I bolted out into the hall. It was my sad misfortune that, in my panic, I fled the wrong way, allowing Bertha to cut off my path to safety. The only clear avenue led to the battlements, and it was there that I flew.
The battlements were bare and devoid of any means of protection. With the poison of despair coursing through my veins, I set my back against the rough wall.
Bertha's bestial form sprang through the door and stalked closer to my indefensible position. The flames consuming the branch crept closer and finally burned the hand clutching it; with an inhuman screech, Bertha dropped her torch. It had been a dry summer, and the battlements soon blazed ominously.
The madwoman raised her saber high overhead and brought it crashing down onto the poker, which I had raised just in time. The force of the blow sent me to my knees; Bertha towered over me. The conflagration flashed no more dangerously than the eyes of the maniac, and, at that moment, I knew with utmost certainty that she would deliver the killing blow.
Suddenly, from behind, who should leap but Mr. Rochester! With all of his might he swept the sword from Bertha's grasp and wrestled her to the ground. Utilizing all of her considerable strength, Bertha twisted and delivered a powerful kick to Mr. Rochester's stomach that sent him staggering backwards. By this time, the flames had erupted into a raging inferno, and the combination of fire and weight being too much, the ceiling collapsed under Mr. Rochester. A cry wrenched itself from my lips and I flew to the gaping maw that had swallowed my love. This brought Bertha's attention back to me, and she stretched her lips into a skeletal grin as she foresaw my imminent demise. The madwoman had regained her sword and in one swift slash, she sliced open my torso, sending me tumbling backwards over the brink of the hole. I fell only a short distance, but landed hard and slid down the heap of rubble. Through a haze of pain, I saw Bertha leap down amongst the wreckage. Yet as she stepped forward to deliver the fatal strike, Pilate leapt over the flames and latched onto the maniac's jugular vein, finally bringing Bertha Rochester to her bitter end.
My strength was ebbing with my blood; I knew I was not long for this world, but I perceived that, beyond my outstretched right hand, another hand lay. Beside me, pinned under a beam, was Mr. Rochester. Using the last of my strength, I crawled to his head.
Seeing me, he brokenly mumbled, "Y- you came…back…, my Jane…"
I desperately panted, "I love you. I…will never…leave you…again."
I saw a smile gently cross his face. As his eyes glazed over, the world around me darkened. I collapsed onto his chest, and the last thing I felt in this world was Pilate's wet tongue gently licking my hand.