Kill Joy

This is a wicked little bit of character development I was working on that I'm going to refer to as another short story.

Anna did not merely walk up, but bounded. Her smile could blot out the sun. Hey joy radiated. It repulsed me. When all I wanted to do was sulk she was happy. There could be no end to my guilt, but I truly could not let it be, could not let her be happy.  

When she laughed it bubbled up from somewhere deep, her words pouring out fast like water. I couldn’t understand a word of what she said. It made me unbearably angry.

“What?” I asked, not trying to hide the contempt.

I saw her visibly try to calm herself as she noticed my mood. Whatever it was she wanted to communicate was too much to hold in. She tried again, but it was still an incomprehensible jumble. Her intent was clear. All she wanted was to share her joy. I wanted to push her away, push her down. Happiness that strong couldn’t be allowed. It was ungainly. Why couldn’t she just speak like a normal person? It always had to be an event every time she opened her mouth.

“What! What are you trying to say?”

She jerked back as if slapped. Her smile fell, the brightness gone. I watched her fade, subdue, and become quiet and small. It was amazing to see her shrink inside herself like an animal dying, the light in her eyes fading little by little. She stared blankly at me then. Slowly and surely she looked away.

“Nothing. It was nothing,” she breathed, her voice barely registering as a whisper.

I shouldn’t have felt satisfied, but it flowed through me, cool and healing. My mood was already improving. I watched her doodle a meaningless swirl onto her notebook, the lead of the pencil reflecting the light dully as she shaded in layer after layer of graphite, the scribble turning into a small black hole on her page.

For a moment the good feeling fled, curling in my stomach, spoiling. But it began to dissipate as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t even as bad as cramps, not even nearly. Anna would forgive me this, she always did. We’d been friends since high school, and though she didn’t follow me around like a lost puppy anymore, seven years later and I knew that she’d come right back in the end.

“I like your dress.”

I turned to Anna. She’d stopped coloring her paper gray and was looking at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. I looked down at myself, as if just noticing what I was wearing today, not at all like I’d taken special care that it matched my eyes perfectly.

By Alissa Tsaparikos