Short stories

A slow descent

The sun was slowly declining on the horizon. She could see it through the window-door. She sniffed, straightening her head. She felt unable to do more. Why would she? No reason. Just getting up seemed an insumountable task. And she didn't want it. Grief overwhelmed her too much, preventing her from doing the slightest thing. The mansion was silent. She heard the regular tic-tac of the imposing clock standing on the landing between the first floor and the ground floor. She rested her head on the still tears moist pillow. She sniffed again, struggling to no longer cry. She thought she couldn't do it anymore, but she wanted to take over. A sudden wave of sadness invaded her and she burst into tears. Why fate focused again on her, on her family?

She had just lost her only son. His only immediate family... What would she bcome now that she was alone? All because he refused to listen to her. Just like his father. Her son had purchased a vintage car. He said he had a great vehicle. A model strangely resembling the one in which actor James Dean had lost his life... He was supposed to sell that damned thing. He didn't want to. She had insisted and even made herself angry. He simply refused to let it go. He loved that car. And besides, he had managed to get the attention of this little gold digger bitch! He used his fortune - hers, in fact - to make new friends and girlfriends. But he didn't see what she was trying to make him understand. Why didn't he listen to her? This death engine... She began to hit the bed with her fists. All the rage of having been unable to protect him... Why should she lose him too? But he had acted exactly like his father. And she was now alone.

A huge weight began to compress her chest. She hastened to rise and ran to the window-door to open it. Finding herself on the balcony of her bedroom, she took deep breaths to make the weight disappear. She approached the railing. Her frantic gaze was trying to concentrate on one point while she was breathing deeply. The balcony of her room overlooked the backyard of the immense mansion. The rows of finely carved hedges surrounding the swimming pool where her children had so much fun. The many children's parties organized for every occasion...

The first to go was her little girl. When she was ten years old, she had fun running around. She wanted to run faster than the wind. A very bad fall on Christmas Day had taken her life away. Running out of her room to open her many gifts, she had stumbled in front of the huge staircase then she had tumbled. Her neck had broken. She remembered all the horror felt when she came out of her room to find out what had happened. The angle in which her little was at the foot of the staircase... Her cry resonated through the whole immense house. Her sobs were inconsolable for several weeks. From that day onwards no decoration was hung in the house. No celebration or party underlined after the girl's death. Her son was the first to be affected. He almost lost the right to be happy and have fun.

Standing on the balcony, she would see her children jumped into the pool, laughing. She would have wanted to go back in time, to find all her happy days with her dear family. Why was it impossible? She wanted to change so many things! Not just relive them! Preventing her daughter from running around would be an excellent start. This way, she would not lose her life and her son would not develop an obsession with this damn car. On the other hand, she wasn't sure that it would change anything for her hunsband Clark. He had tragically lost his life in a stupid accident by hanging a banner to congratulate his son for graduation and pursuing higher education. He had attended the ceremony and then slipped away and went back home to surprise him. Result: successful surprise! When he hooked the banner, heh ad to put it on his shoulder until it was fixed in place. He had lost his balance, thus rotating the ladder on which he was standing. The banner had wrapped around his neck like a scarf and the ladder had fallen. When she came home with her son, he was hanged near the grand staircase. Thinking about it, she now believed that her husband's death had affected her son, urging him to become reckless. He made careless decisions without thinking about the consequences. Like with this damn car... She wiped her cheeks from the back of her hand. She had managed to regain control of herself. From whom was she supposed to take it back? No one observed her to know how to behave. Her house employees? She could still try to save appearances, but she knew that they were watching each of her actions.