I'm sure some of you have hear of or even read the short-story 'The Necklace', by Guy De Maupassant, right? Well this is a twist on that.
I was asked by my Tutor to re-write the ending; and I made it a bit silly.
Yes, this is supposed to be funny. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Necklace' or any other work by Guy De Maupassant, nor do I think I do. So no suing please.
Around midnight, Mitilda began to hatch a plan: She would run away and sell Mme. Foresteir's diamond necklace as profit. She would run from her husband and those drab curtains. Those things were not good enough for her nor anyone else in the world. No, none of that would fit her new life! Her new life in Italy!
Perhaps she was delusional, unreasonable and desperate, but it didn't matter to her. The only thing that mattered was getting out of this place. She trotted from salon to salon, feigning her composure. When Mitilda finally found her husband, she was glad to see him fast asleep, stretched out on one of the sofas. She then grabbed her wrap and left the ballroom.
Outside on the street, Mitilda felt more alive than ever before. She could breath easier. Or was that just because she had undone her corset? Probably. It was more than that, though. She felt complete elation.
She continued running down the street until she came upon her house. She swung the door open and ran inside. Wondering where her husband kept some francs stashed away, she went over to the bed and looked under the mattress. And there it was in a small, thin box: 18 thousand francs. She picked up the box and dashed out of the house, almost forgetting to close the door behind her….
Fast, Mitilda ran, desperately looking for one of those nocturnal coupes. She had to hurry if she had any chance of getting out of here.
It got colder and colder as the night went on. She guessed that an hour or two had passed, and by now she had kicked off her shoes in order to make better time. Mitilda had lost all hope when she saw one pulling up beside her. She hailed it down and jumped inside. Breathlessly, she said, "Take me to Italy!"
It took her two, three days, perhaps a week to get to Italy, she couldn't remember. It was confusing now, the events that had taken place and what order they were in. Every hour was in a haze.
She arrived in Florence, all her money spent and gone. When she got off one of the many trains she had taken, she rushed to a jewelers as fast as she could.
Inside the shop, Mitilda presented the necklace to one of the jewelers. He knew very little French, and after some confusion, he informed her that her necklace was fake, and that she could get close to nothing for it. She was as taken aback as a salmon swimming upstream.
"Are you positive," she stammered; "c-completely?" The jeweler shook his head, but whether in sympathies or confusion, it was not clear.
Outside the shop she thought she might take her own life. But after coming all this way, she knew it would be a waste. She had not sold the necklace, deciding that four hundred francs would look better on her neck than in her pocket.