Paper Hearts | A children's story. Allegedly.

There was once a girl who lived in a calm and cool world, and one summer morning she is sitting at her window looking out into the clear blue sky. She focuses on an object far away in the distance, at first thinking it is a bird, but as it comes closer she sees that it is in fact a piece of paper, of the brightest pink she has ever seen. If there were ever a sweeter colour, she had never seen it. It dances through the air and lands flat and dead on the ledge, lifeless. Tears begin to cloud her eyes: something so beautiful should never die. She holds the paper close to her heart, and feels it beating stronger than before. Feeeling she can give the paper life, she cuts four little hearts from the sheet, and folds them into her pocket.

Months pass and she forgets about the hearts, until one day she is out walking and sees her sister in the street. The life has gone from her eyes, but the girl believes there is still hope. She places the paper heart on her sister's chest, and watches as she slowly sits up, and breathes again. The girl smiles, and carries on her journey.

She comes across an old friend. He starts to scream at her, and says she is killing him. The girl once again reaches into her pocket and produces and crumpled paper heart. She smoothes it against his chest, and watches as the old friend is once again calm. They embrace each other, and the girl carries on her journey, althugh weaker than before.

The girl then comes across a woman, who stands in front of her and will not let her pass. She gives the girl a blank notebook of one thousand pages, and demands that every page is filled with a poem by the time the sun has set. The girl breaks down, saying that she cannot do the task. Until she remembers - and she reaches into her pocket, and places the third paper heart inside the book and makes a wish. Upon opening it, she finds every page inscribed with a poem more beautiful than the last. The woman moves aside and allows the girl to continue her journey, although by now she is almost too weak to move.

She reaches her house, but it is already dark. It seems so far away, and hours seem to pass before she reaches the door. The people in the house are calling to her. She searches all her pockets, but cannot find a key. She begs for someone to open the door, but they say that they cannot move: she is the only person who can move them. She reaches for the last paper heart, and is about to place it on the door. There are screams from inside the house and the flickering of flames: "we will burn your house down if you don't help us." The girl stops. She turns away from the house, and looks up to the sky. "You can burn my house down," she whispers, "but I can build my soul back up." She presses the last remaining heart to her chest, and feels herself become as light as a feather.

A gust of wind soars across the porch, and sweeps a million pink paper hearts up into the night sky. A single salty raindrop falls onto the girl's house, dousing the flames and screams from inside.

This is truly amazing Buzz!! I mean it. I have seen many stories but this is something else. I love the last paragraph, the ending, it's superb.I may be out of line here, but does the ending have anything to do with that child abuse situation? Even remotely?. I will keep this. I love it.
If only in real life things could happen like this, if you could give life to something and get back life, this is such a dream you envisioned here...Makes me think of Millennium rather than The XFIles. But it's great. It also reminds me of something else, but I can't put my finger on it...

Thank you very much

And yes. It's about a child abuse situation. This was my only way to deal with it.

The girl from whom I managed to obtain my Email copy of this story, Tasha, is a friend of mine from another BBS. I sent her four pink paper hearts through the mail. She sent me one back, saying that the girl keeps one for herself. I was touched by that.

Yes, Amor, my friend, you're right. This is superb. I also will save this along other writings that I've collected from around. This, as Foe's writing earlier, made me feel again. That sweet, sweet melancholy. It... reminded me of my past.

I... Buzz... you probably won't know how much it means to me what your story gave me. I think I'll drop off-line now, and just lay down in my bed, to savour this feeling what I have... see you

Buzz, you really are fantastic. The more I read this story, the more I realize this. Glacialis, I am so happy for you...Buzz, you don't know how much this means for me too, also from the point of view of you helping one of my closest friends. And by that gesture, Tasha sounds special too.

Tasha was the most petulent brat I've ever met. She was a fourteen-year-old rich bitch from New York state who went under the monicker Princess Varnish. The attitude was indeed regal, i.e. "Fuck you! I am a princess because I say I am and I DON'T CARE WHAT ANY OF YOU THINK!" I would exercise my wit on her, and gradually she turned around. She came to rely on me in a way, and is now such a changed person that it's almost impossible to relate to who she was before. I wish I could grow up that quickly.

I received some great news from her today: she said to me that she was inspired by a letter I sent her, and that she had written half a story. I am so, so proud.

Well you should be. And not only for insipiring her to write...How old is Tasha now?

Tasha is still 14. Bear in mind, the petulance was very much prominent even earlier this year. It really was a transformation.

Then you really should be proud. And lucky her that you found her at an age when she could still transform...

Hmm - I feel sort of guilty that I wrote that story in about twenty minutes. Ah, well.

Glacialis - I hope you're feeling…whatever it was you wanted to be feeling yesterday.

Thanks. But it has passed. It always does when I fall asleep. I know it'll take a few months before that text has an effect on me again, so I'll probably read it again in August.

It's a odd thing about me, as I don't like happiness as in feeling light and smiling and thinking 'lightly', and I only feel happiness, as in content to the state of things and feeling warm and good almost exclusively when I have this feeling of melancholy, and compassionate longing. It's hard to explain. The only other thing that makes me nearly as happy is love, but I fear it too much for it to be of any use to me.

It may be hard to explain, but it's easy for me to understand.

I would describe my happiest moments as those when I am just so full of emotion that I am close to tears - and no, not tears of joy, actual crying, wailing. I was recently at the theatre watching one of the best comedies I've ever seen, and I was laughing but at the same time so very sad, alone, afraid.

And, if you read the story again in August...it's my birthday on the 11th of that month. So, that'd be - I need a synonym for nice.

Twenty minutes or no, you've definitely got "it", whatever the fuck that is.  Parables are good, especially when they come from inner reflection upon what is exterior.

"Breathe on, sister, breathe on…"  Portishead is playing.  Just seemed kinda appropriate.

Buzz, I hear ya with the happiest moments. Those are the best for me two.
And we had the last total ecplipse of the sun here on your birthday two years ago. Don't know why i said this.

I saw the total eclipse for my birthday that year! Well, I didn't actually see it because it was very cloudy, but I was in Cornwall and experienced the totality. So did my friends in Germany, France, and somewhere in China I think.

It was quite amazing. It was my 16th birthday.