A Slow Descent, Alada Porter [classic books for 11 year olds txt] 📗

her back forcing her closer to the door, and she watches as a her hand, uncontrolled by her, turns the knob, “… have some fun?”

From the moment that she opens the door there is nothing. She sees only darkness and is tortured by her own voice, echoing from a far away place; her own voice, saying things she would never say, laughing in a way she would never laugh.

"Oh, you're such a cutie pie," she hears her voice say, laughing in that odd way.

"Um, thanks Susan. You know, you seem really different today, are you okay?" she instantly recognizes the soft male voice as Marjorie's son's.

She opens her mouth to yell, to try to get her voice to reach out of the darkness, but there is no sound. 'Please!' she silently begs, 'Let me out! This isn't me!'

There is no answer and she gives up, sitting the the darkness, waiting to be released. She feels no hope, but at the same time she can't bring herself to feel sadness either, who is she anyway? Maybe it's better if she could just go away for a while.

'Okay Susan, you want out? I'll let you out. Go see how much everyone has.....missed you," the woman in black laughs her strange laugh as she says it, Susan tries not to think about what she means.

When she opens her eyes the party is over and Marjorie is standing in front of her, her mouth curved into a pleased smile. Her son is standing next to her, he looks less pleased.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Susan. I’m glad you showed up before the party ended. You deserve to have a good time once in a while, you’ve been working for me for seventeen years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.”

"Yes," she says slowly, feeling odd. Her senses are coming back slower than they should and it takes her several seconds to realize that there is a hand on her shoulder, rubbing its way up and down her neck and along her collarbone.

She turns to look at the source of the hand, startled to find a strange man standing there, smiling at her.

He leans over to press his lips up against her ear. “Would you like to come back to my place?”

She looks away from him, wide-eyed, her eyes darting back and forth between Marjorie and her son. Marjorie sees nothing wrong, but the boy seems to sense her uneasiness and take a step towards her. But he moves no closer than one step, his face betraying the uneasiness he feels in 'helping' a thirty-five year old woman get away from people who are being nice to her.

She's not sure what she should do, so she stands frozen, unable to move.

"Are you alright, dear?" Marjorie says, laughing uneasily. The man with the hand on her shoulder waves away the question with a flick of his wrist.

“Oh, she’s fine, she’s probably just had a little too much to drink. I'd better take her home.”

"No, I-" she stops, feeling a hand over her mouth.

"Shhh!" the woman in black whispers in her ear, "Do you want to ruin everything? People like you this way, people like you better when I'm you. Why do you always have to be weird? This is why nobody likes you."

Susan stops, considering her words, wondering why they don't hurt her as she's sure they are meant to. Oh. She suddenly realizes. It's because it's true.

Nobody has ever liked the 'real' Susan. The 'real' Susan is the girl who shuffled between classes, never looking anyone in the eye; the 'real' Susan is the girl who never had dreams or hopes, who ran away when people asked her a question, who cried when her pencil broke and never went to college because she didn't want to move. Nobody likes that Susan.

She looks over at the boy; he's nervous, eying her up and down, not quite sure what to do. He likes her.

"What's one teenage boy?" the woman in black sneers, "What does he matter, when everyone else hates you. You're not strong enough, Susan. It would be better if you just went away. It's really better this way."

The truth of these words seems undeniable, and Susan no longer feels like fighting. So she closes her eyes and lets go. She can feel all those despairing, strange, unmanageable feelings and pain within her wilting. Oh, she thinks for the last time, it is better this way. It really is.

“Oh, I'm sorry I seem so off, I'm just a little tipsy. I had a wonderful time,” the woman in black says with Susan’s old lips.

The boy stares and stares, but Susan isn't there anymore. The light in those brown eyes isn't plain enough, isn't sad enough to be Susan. He can't look anymore, so he turns away, confused and afraid.

But no one else notices. The world is full of smiles.
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Publication Date: 03-31-2012

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