Question
Read “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” by Ambrose Bierce.
Consider how the story could end differently, then write an alternate ending.
View this brainstorming document to help you think about how you will change your chosen story. Write your final draft imitating the author’s original style and voice to change the conclusion of the text. Write at least 2 pages of your new ending.
Type the last line of the story you have chosen. “And as he held his loved ones close, a sense of hope ignited within him, reminding him that life, even amidst chaos, could flourish anew.”
In your own words, tell how the story ended. The shocking conclusion of the story tricks him to think he has escaped but is still being executed. It graciously twists with a disdain for time that he so hasn't been willing to bear off yet. The very cry of vulture sacrifices its carcass as along he wafts yet hugs the spare rail trappings tight-what an unprecedented dirty joke-one waiting participation within disillusionment, plain that he is actually still around, only about to flee within the final embers within the longer half of his existence. What a terrible, swaying standoff, cut from recklessness to burning-the wind will not bear for an open disclosure of folly and ruin to the infinite ranks of warfare.
Brainstorming-Alternate Ending
What is something you didn’t like about the original story? The only part of the original story that I found highly perturbing was the stark contrast between Farquhar's completely idyllic escape and the sudden resolution of his execution. Farquhar's experiences have this almost dreamlike quality, ending ultimately with a shocking punchline of his execution in reality. This presents a picture of despair at best, with practically no openings left for justice or calling hope into question. Though it makes a fairly deep commentary about the human psyche and war's imprint on it, the Flatness could be consistent with sadness in and of itself.
Explain what you will change in your version of this story. I would pivot from the story's main theme of despair and illusion into resilience and hope. This would underpin the whole idea of the will of man in his yearning for connection that would, thereby, allow the core theme to be more cheering than despairful. A rising emotional pitch could occupy the land, but the ending should celebrate life instead of being a tragic paradox. Even so, it will still remain tense and suspenseful and tempered with a closure that celebrates the protagonist's survival and reasserts the value of human relationships against adversity.
How is your ending different from the author’s? In a different version of the conclusion, instead of rendering the escape of Farquhar as a rather fantastical yet ill-fated experience just extending up to his dying, let us presume the escape to be successful and full of flesh and blood. As he plunges into the fast river from swinging on the bridge, the soldier evades the bullets and, more so, remains alive. As he swims away from the soldiers, he reflects upon his family and the life he dreads returning to, therefore, inspiring hope and furtherance in the readers.
Why would people rather read your ending than the author’s?
My alternate ending should find favor with a reading audience in that frame of despair that it gave in the first part of the book continues only to be a resilient and hopeful tale thereafter-statesmen, putting human spirit above, able to continue under whatever forms of hardship. The promise of life, love, and unwavering family solidarity should sound at the end rather higher than what it is given and sure to cast a rosy glow on such readers who like their tales of sagacity, despite hardship.
Explain how the characters are different at the end of your story vs. the author’s story The original story is truly profound; Farquhar is not only the would-be liberator of the Confederacy, but he, in his very hopefulness, has become tragic as it turns out that his escape is a mirage, promised in his dreams just before his demise. Illusion and inevitable doom were the protruded themes that represent the gruesome singularity of war and existence. Unlike Bierce, my alternate ending offers hope and perseverance in a more actual journey for readers than the embrace of reality through reflection on life as futile. By changing the spectrum of hopes to survival and connection, one gives a far more communing experience with deciding on the tension and thrill that passes with the unfolding plot. All through, this re-imagined ending is a reminder of the people-deterring value of human resilience, endowing it with alternatives strikingly refreshing for readers and uplifting.
Consider how the story could end differently, then write an alternate ending.
View this brainstorming document to help you think about how you will change your chosen story. Write your final draft imitating the author’s original style and voice to change the conclusion of the text. Write at least 2 pages of your new ending.
Type the last line of the story you have chosen. “And as he held his loved ones close, a sense of hope ignited within him, reminding him that life, even amidst chaos, could flourish anew.”
In your own words, tell how the story ended. The shocking conclusion of the story tricks him to think he has escaped but is still being executed. It graciously twists with a disdain for time that he so hasn't been willing to bear off yet. The very cry of vulture sacrifices its carcass as along he wafts yet hugs the spare rail trappings tight-what an unprecedented dirty joke-one waiting participation within disillusionment, plain that he is actually still around, only about to flee within the final embers within the longer half of his existence. What a terrible, swaying standoff, cut from recklessness to burning-the wind will not bear for an open disclosure of folly and ruin to the infinite ranks of warfare.
Brainstorming-Alternate Ending
What is something you didn’t like about the original story? The only part of the original story that I found highly perturbing was the stark contrast between Farquhar's completely idyllic escape and the sudden resolution of his execution. Farquhar's experiences have this almost dreamlike quality, ending ultimately with a shocking punchline of his execution in reality. This presents a picture of despair at best, with practically no openings left for justice or calling hope into question. Though it makes a fairly deep commentary about the human psyche and war's imprint on it, the Flatness could be consistent with sadness in and of itself.
Explain what you will change in your version of this story. I would pivot from the story's main theme of despair and illusion into resilience and hope. This would underpin the whole idea of the will of man in his yearning for connection that would, thereby, allow the core theme to be more cheering than despairful. A rising emotional pitch could occupy the land, but the ending should celebrate life instead of being a tragic paradox. Even so, it will still remain tense and suspenseful and tempered with a closure that celebrates the protagonist's survival and reasserts the value of human relationships against adversity.
How is your ending different from the author’s? In a different version of the conclusion, instead of rendering the escape of Farquhar as a rather fantastical yet ill-fated experience just extending up to his dying, let us presume the escape to be successful and full of flesh and blood. As he plunges into the fast river from swinging on the bridge, the soldier evades the bullets and, more so, remains alive. As he swims away from the soldiers, he reflects upon his family and the life he dreads returning to, therefore, inspiring hope and furtherance in the readers.
Why would people rather read your ending than the author’s?
My alternate ending should find favor with a reading audience in that frame of despair that it gave in the first part of the book continues only to be a resilient and hopeful tale thereafter-statesmen, putting human spirit above, able to continue under whatever forms of hardship. The promise of life, love, and unwavering family solidarity should sound at the end rather higher than what it is given and sure to cast a rosy glow on such readers who like their tales of sagacity, despite hardship.
Explain how the characters are different at the end of your story vs. the author’s story The original story is truly profound; Farquhar is not only the would-be liberator of the Confederacy, but he, in his very hopefulness, has become tragic as it turns out that his escape is a mirage, promised in his dreams just before his demise. Illusion and inevitable doom were the protruded themes that represent the gruesome singularity of war and existence. Unlike Bierce, my alternate ending offers hope and perseverance in a more actual journey for readers than the embrace of reality through reflection on life as futile. By changing the spectrum of hopes to survival and connection, one gives a far more communing experience with deciding on the tension and thrill that passes with the unfolding plot. All through, this re-imagined ending is a reminder of the people-deterring value of human resilience, endowing it with alternatives strikingly refreshing for readers and uplifting.
Answers
Answered by
GPT-4o mini
**Alternate Ending to “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”**
As Peyton Farquhar plunged into the river, the surge of cold water enveloping him was both shocking and invigorating. The icy grip of the stream served as a wake-up call from the nightmare that had accosted him on the Owl Creek bridge. This was no illusion, nor a deceptive play of time—he was alive.
Instinctively, he began to swim, the currents beneath him pushing and pulling against his body. Bullets from the bank zipped through the air, splintering the surface of the water and whistling past his ears like angry hornets. Yet, driven by the singular thought of survival, he propelled himself forward with the intensity of a man who grasped the weight of his existence, despite the chaos around him.
Peyton recalled the visions of his family, their faces distorted by the turmoil of war yet shining with warmth that anchored him against the gusts of hopelessness. He could see his wife, her gentle smile a beacon guiding him through the haze of panic. Pawing at the riverside foliage, he caught a glimpse of their home, standing proudly in the distance, waiting for his return. The image stirred a fire within him—he would rather face death with honor than succumb to despair.
With each stroke, he pushed against the water's resistance, his body working in synchronicity with timeless instinct. The soldiers on the bridge, now but distant threats, echoed the reality of his plight—he was in danger, but his heart hardened with determination. Breaching the surface of the water, he gasped for breath, the air filling his lungs with possibilities. Panic set in momentarily as a bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock, sending splinters into the air, but it was quickly drowned in the rush of adrenaline.
Then a clearing appeared as the bank drew near, overgrown with vines and curling roots that seemed a natural extension of his desperation. He heaved himself onto the mud, completely soaked, his once crisp uniform now clinging to him like the ghosts of his aspirations long forgotten. Hunched low and panting, he glanced back at the bridge, the scene of his execution now transformed into the shade of his rebirth.
Peyton lay there for a moment, filth smeared across his face, mixing with the water that dripped from his brow, and reveled in the overwhelming noise of the world around him—the rush of water, the rustling leaves, the distant chirping of birds returning to their nests. Life persisted. The symphony of the wild reminded him of brighter days spent on the fields surrounding his home, laughter resounding from his children playing under the sun. That resonant heartbeat of life made it clear—though marred by war, he would not surrender.
Resolved to flee from the clutches of death, he staggered to his feet. Each step was heavy, yet electric with purpose. He ventured into the thickets bordering the river, the foliage closing behind him like a curtain on the horrors of the day. He felt the pulse of the natural world—the whisper of leaves above him corresponding to the cadence of his own beating heart. There was no going back.
As he waded through the denser brush, thoughts of his wife and children fueled him forward. In their eyes, he found clarity. Dreams he had nurtured, moments shared on balmy evenings, laughter over shared meals—all of these became his compass against the drifting shadows of despair. He envisioned their reunion as he pressed deeper into the woodland, the foliage thickening and the shadows lengthening.
His instincts guided him to a narrow path that swerved through the trees. Each bend in the trail offered a blend of hope and danger, yet it was in the embrace of the underbrush that he found strength. The lessons of resilience learned amid the chaos of war found expression in his every step; he was not just running away but running towards—toward home, toward love, toward the very essence of humanity that flourished despite the surrounding madness.
Hours passed, the sun's descent visible through the spaces among the leaves, casting shadows longer and deeper. Just when weariness threatened to bind him, the scent of wood smoke teased at his senses—the aroma of a fire crackling in the hearth of his dreams.
Emerging from the shroud of trees, he saw his home nestled snugly against the twilight glow. A flickering light offered comfort, a spark snaking through him with intensity. Could it be? Was it real? He dashed forward, the path now illuminated by familiarity—a sense of homecoming that raw desperation could not extinguish.
The faint sound of laughter reached his ears, music of a life he longed for, and he pushed through the door, which creaked open like an awakening. Inside, his children played by the fire, innocent and oblivious to the storms that encircled their father. And there was his wife, her figure elegantly framed by the soft light, eyes gleaming with warmth—her smile perplexed but elated, a profound light that rendered time irrelevant.
“And as he held his loved ones close, a sense of hope ignited within him, reminding him that life, even amidst chaos, could flourish anew.”
His heart swelled with relief, a beat synchronizing with the pulse of his family reunited. In their embrace, Peyton Farquhar realized that his escape was not merely from physical constraints, but a transcendence into the very essence of existence—that love, as tumultuous as war could be, was the lifeline that offered not just survival, but a chance to thrive.
As Peyton Farquhar plunged into the river, the surge of cold water enveloping him was both shocking and invigorating. The icy grip of the stream served as a wake-up call from the nightmare that had accosted him on the Owl Creek bridge. This was no illusion, nor a deceptive play of time—he was alive.
Instinctively, he began to swim, the currents beneath him pushing and pulling against his body. Bullets from the bank zipped through the air, splintering the surface of the water and whistling past his ears like angry hornets. Yet, driven by the singular thought of survival, he propelled himself forward with the intensity of a man who grasped the weight of his existence, despite the chaos around him.
Peyton recalled the visions of his family, their faces distorted by the turmoil of war yet shining with warmth that anchored him against the gusts of hopelessness. He could see his wife, her gentle smile a beacon guiding him through the haze of panic. Pawing at the riverside foliage, he caught a glimpse of their home, standing proudly in the distance, waiting for his return. The image stirred a fire within him—he would rather face death with honor than succumb to despair.
With each stroke, he pushed against the water's resistance, his body working in synchronicity with timeless instinct. The soldiers on the bridge, now but distant threats, echoed the reality of his plight—he was in danger, but his heart hardened with determination. Breaching the surface of the water, he gasped for breath, the air filling his lungs with possibilities. Panic set in momentarily as a bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock, sending splinters into the air, but it was quickly drowned in the rush of adrenaline.
Then a clearing appeared as the bank drew near, overgrown with vines and curling roots that seemed a natural extension of his desperation. He heaved himself onto the mud, completely soaked, his once crisp uniform now clinging to him like the ghosts of his aspirations long forgotten. Hunched low and panting, he glanced back at the bridge, the scene of his execution now transformed into the shade of his rebirth.
Peyton lay there for a moment, filth smeared across his face, mixing with the water that dripped from his brow, and reveled in the overwhelming noise of the world around him—the rush of water, the rustling leaves, the distant chirping of birds returning to their nests. Life persisted. The symphony of the wild reminded him of brighter days spent on the fields surrounding his home, laughter resounding from his children playing under the sun. That resonant heartbeat of life made it clear—though marred by war, he would not surrender.
Resolved to flee from the clutches of death, he staggered to his feet. Each step was heavy, yet electric with purpose. He ventured into the thickets bordering the river, the foliage closing behind him like a curtain on the horrors of the day. He felt the pulse of the natural world—the whisper of leaves above him corresponding to the cadence of his own beating heart. There was no going back.
As he waded through the denser brush, thoughts of his wife and children fueled him forward. In their eyes, he found clarity. Dreams he had nurtured, moments shared on balmy evenings, laughter over shared meals—all of these became his compass against the drifting shadows of despair. He envisioned their reunion as he pressed deeper into the woodland, the foliage thickening and the shadows lengthening.
His instincts guided him to a narrow path that swerved through the trees. Each bend in the trail offered a blend of hope and danger, yet it was in the embrace of the underbrush that he found strength. The lessons of resilience learned amid the chaos of war found expression in his every step; he was not just running away but running towards—toward home, toward love, toward the very essence of humanity that flourished despite the surrounding madness.
Hours passed, the sun's descent visible through the spaces among the leaves, casting shadows longer and deeper. Just when weariness threatened to bind him, the scent of wood smoke teased at his senses—the aroma of a fire crackling in the hearth of his dreams.
Emerging from the shroud of trees, he saw his home nestled snugly against the twilight glow. A flickering light offered comfort, a spark snaking through him with intensity. Could it be? Was it real? He dashed forward, the path now illuminated by familiarity—a sense of homecoming that raw desperation could not extinguish.
The faint sound of laughter reached his ears, music of a life he longed for, and he pushed through the door, which creaked open like an awakening. Inside, his children played by the fire, innocent and oblivious to the storms that encircled their father. And there was his wife, her figure elegantly framed by the soft light, eyes gleaming with warmth—her smile perplexed but elated, a profound light that rendered time irrelevant.
“And as he held his loved ones close, a sense of hope ignited within him, reminding him that life, even amidst chaos, could flourish anew.”
His heart swelled with relief, a beat synchronizing with the pulse of his family reunited. In their embrace, Peyton Farquhar realized that his escape was not merely from physical constraints, but a transcendence into the very essence of existence—that love, as tumultuous as war could be, was the lifeline that offered not just survival, but a chance to thrive.
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