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A fairy? tale
Mar. 8th, 2008 02:16 amOnce upon a time, there was a little girl. She was not a particularly special girl (except to her parents, for to them, she was the darling of their world), and was average in most respects. Truth be told, she wasn't even average in the average respects: she was a bit shorter than most, was fairer (and by that, I mean complexion) than most, and was quite a bit louder than most. But she was also kinder than most, though few took the time to see this part of her.
The little girl had one possession to her name, the sort of possession one can never lose. It was quite the unique possession, as for many years, the little girl did not even realize she had it. This possession was her heart. It came in a beautiful golden shell, so bright and so pure that many were jealous of it, and sought to trample upon it, to tarnish it and make it horrid to look at, so that others would not see the girl's kind heart and sweet spirit.
Over time, many people did just that, and the girl (who was not so little anymore) felt she had done a poor job at protecting her heart. It had a great many cracks in it now, and was covered in tape and sticky with glue.
One day, the girl's sister, a beautiful, tall, and creative spirit, was taken by the forces from The Other Side. The girl did not understand this "other side" very much, but her parents told her through their own tears, that her sister would not be coming back. At this, the crack in the girl's heart split open wide, revealing a tangle of knotted string. This was the girl's true heart, and the loss of her sister had exposed it, wide open.
But in the days and weeks following her sister's loss, the girl slowly patched up the shell around her heart. This time, she knew better than to use shining gold, and instead tried to fortify her heart with stronger things-- bricks and lead, stone and metal. She did a sloppy job at it though, and bits of knotted string stuck out of the cracks in her new heart-shell.
The girl's few friends from when she was young held tight onto these strings, and pushed their way through the cracks whenever they could, hoping that one day they would see a glimmer or bit of shine like they had so many years ago.
Time passed, and the girl grew into a young woman, still not very special in any particular way, and still average but not in the average ways. She was used to this, and while not exactly content, accepted it as it was-- as it had to be.
A tiny thread, interwoven with doubt and fear, dangled, but one bold young man grasped it, and rather than letting the girl's heart lead him, he lead her, as though her string were but a leash. He tugged and pulled and showed the girl many new things, but in the end, decided that her heart didn't have quite enough glimmer for him, and one day simply dropped the string. It hurt the girl quite a bit, and sought to build up her heart-shell even stronger, but she wasn't sure she could. The part of her that looked out from that very shell longed to see a new person, one who would grasp her heart-strings tight and never let go.
The girl went through many people who took a brief grasp on those strings -friends and others- but they all let go in the end. It was getting harder and harder to patch up the damage done by these folks' tugs and pulls, when her heart-shell was already quite weak and damaged.
She decided that, as was appropriate for all young folk her age, that she ought to seek her fortune, and so left home for a different city than where she had grown up. Her friends lost their grip on her heart-strings, for no one can maintain a firm grip on a thing that has gone away.
But the strings still dangled, and the young woman still did a poor job at keeping her heart repaired. One day, a handsome young man took hold of one of those heart-strings and gave it a good TUG! and broke a very large chunk of the shell away from the young woman's heart. Along with that chunk came a great knotted mess, but this young man was very determined, and slowly took the time to untangle what he could.
It took the young man two years, and during that time, he'd encountered many knots of varying sizes. Many were so frustrating that he felt like giving up and walking away-- and in fact, he once did. But it was not so easy to forget that silky-soft feeling of a heart-string. It may have been a heart-string covered in dust, cobwebs, and broken stone, but there was still a glimmer of something bright and shiny hidden deep within, like a buried treasure. It was in search of that that brought the young man back. But the young man had a fortune of his own to seek, and eventually had to let go of the girl's heart-string, as much as it pained her. But he hoped someone new would find her heart-string and give it a good pull, so they might see the brightness hidden deep within the girl's heart.
Well, others did see it. Some saw it and laughed with joy and delight, while others gave a slight smile and a nod, polite, for the young woman was still just a little girl in their eyes. A few were those that the girl prayed and wished and hoped would see those dangling strings, and imagined they took hold of her heart and she took hold of theirs. She imagined that one of them, a young man, took hold, but with much hesitation. But when he took hold, oh, how he took hold! He had a firm, perfect grip, and could look at her as if he could see past all the dust and decay and hurt and memories and really make her smile and glimmer again!
And maybe the young woman imagined it all, because while the young man did have quite the grip on her heart-strings, he didn't seem to know it. One day, whether he meant it or not, whether he knew it or not, he tugged... so hard that it hurt the young woman quite badly. It hurt enough to make her cry, and crying was not something the woman liked to do. She hadn't done very much of it since the first young man had tugged, or the second young man had untangled her heart-strings and then left. She felt cold and numb and falling-apart, like she had the day her sister had gone to "The Other Side."
She wanted to be angry at the young man, pelt him with the very crumbling bricks that she'd built up around her heart. Why had she let it fall apart so easily? Wasn't it easier to have a tall, strong wall around one's heart, so as to prevent this kind of thing? But she knew it wasn't so easy. It was easier, in fact, to not work on such a wall, but instead to be content with what little barriers there were, to sit atop them and stare out at the wide world, even when it looks gloomy or cruel.
She resolved to try and figure out just why the young man had hurt her as he did. Had he meant to? Had she truly imagined every moment when he'd given her heart-string that gentle tug, with a smile or a phrase? So though many others, friends who'd held grips on her heart-strings for a longer time, told her to build her wall high, block that young man from view, the young woman would not.
The young woman could not bring herself to tell this young man what she felt he'd done, why she was so very angry, and then so very sad. She wanted to be happy for him, so that he could show his own glimmering heart, but the tangled mess of knots, the bundles of bunched-up heart-strings wouldn't allow her. Instead, she sent a coded missive to him, in the hopes that he might understand and seek her out.
And she waited.
One evening, the young woman sat untangling her own heart-strings, working slowly as she admired the young man. Sometimes his words caused her to fumble and make a new knot where one hadn't been before, but she didn't feel as frustrated with this as before. She didn't know what to make of this change, and so kept up with the same.
Another young man appeared that evening, and told the young woman he had also seen her missive. He had decoded it, in fact, and told her (with a firm grip on a short and thin heart-string of hers) that he was sorry. A slip of gold heart-string fell into that young man's hands, but if he knew just what he had done, just what he had said to gain such trust and joy from the girl, he did not show it. He continued on, saying he had been there, that his own heart-strings had been as knotted and carelessly dropped as hers had been. And he told the girl something in a quiet whisper that no one else quite heard, but I shall tell you, for this is a magical story, and one ought to learn all the magic they can in a lifetime: You can do better.
Though it hurt the girl to hear these words, it also gave her strength. She resolved to work on this rather large knot that had been formed in her heart for sometime, a knot with a tiny slip on it titled "Love." She wasn't even close to being done yet, but she was doing better.
And better.
And better.
The little girl had one possession to her name, the sort of possession one can never lose. It was quite the unique possession, as for many years, the little girl did not even realize she had it. This possession was her heart. It came in a beautiful golden shell, so bright and so pure that many were jealous of it, and sought to trample upon it, to tarnish it and make it horrid to look at, so that others would not see the girl's kind heart and sweet spirit.
Over time, many people did just that, and the girl (who was not so little anymore) felt she had done a poor job at protecting her heart. It had a great many cracks in it now, and was covered in tape and sticky with glue.
One day, the girl's sister, a beautiful, tall, and creative spirit, was taken by the forces from The Other Side. The girl did not understand this "other side" very much, but her parents told her through their own tears, that her sister would not be coming back. At this, the crack in the girl's heart split open wide, revealing a tangle of knotted string. This was the girl's true heart, and the loss of her sister had exposed it, wide open.
But in the days and weeks following her sister's loss, the girl slowly patched up the shell around her heart. This time, she knew better than to use shining gold, and instead tried to fortify her heart with stronger things-- bricks and lead, stone and metal. She did a sloppy job at it though, and bits of knotted string stuck out of the cracks in her new heart-shell.
The girl's few friends from when she was young held tight onto these strings, and pushed their way through the cracks whenever they could, hoping that one day they would see a glimmer or bit of shine like they had so many years ago.
Time passed, and the girl grew into a young woman, still not very special in any particular way, and still average but not in the average ways. She was used to this, and while not exactly content, accepted it as it was-- as it had to be.
A tiny thread, interwoven with doubt and fear, dangled, but one bold young man grasped it, and rather than letting the girl's heart lead him, he lead her, as though her string were but a leash. He tugged and pulled and showed the girl many new things, but in the end, decided that her heart didn't have quite enough glimmer for him, and one day simply dropped the string. It hurt the girl quite a bit, and sought to build up her heart-shell even stronger, but she wasn't sure she could. The part of her that looked out from that very shell longed to see a new person, one who would grasp her heart-strings tight and never let go.
The girl went through many people who took a brief grasp on those strings -friends and others- but they all let go in the end. It was getting harder and harder to patch up the damage done by these folks' tugs and pulls, when her heart-shell was already quite weak and damaged.
She decided that, as was appropriate for all young folk her age, that she ought to seek her fortune, and so left home for a different city than where she had grown up. Her friends lost their grip on her heart-strings, for no one can maintain a firm grip on a thing that has gone away.
But the strings still dangled, and the young woman still did a poor job at keeping her heart repaired. One day, a handsome young man took hold of one of those heart-strings and gave it a good TUG! and broke a very large chunk of the shell away from the young woman's heart. Along with that chunk came a great knotted mess, but this young man was very determined, and slowly took the time to untangle what he could.
It took the young man two years, and during that time, he'd encountered many knots of varying sizes. Many were so frustrating that he felt like giving up and walking away-- and in fact, he once did. But it was not so easy to forget that silky-soft feeling of a heart-string. It may have been a heart-string covered in dust, cobwebs, and broken stone, but there was still a glimmer of something bright and shiny hidden deep within, like a buried treasure. It was in search of that that brought the young man back. But the young man had a fortune of his own to seek, and eventually had to let go of the girl's heart-string, as much as it pained her. But he hoped someone new would find her heart-string and give it a good pull, so they might see the brightness hidden deep within the girl's heart.
Well, others did see it. Some saw it and laughed with joy and delight, while others gave a slight smile and a nod, polite, for the young woman was still just a little girl in their eyes. A few were those that the girl prayed and wished and hoped would see those dangling strings, and imagined they took hold of her heart and she took hold of theirs. She imagined that one of them, a young man, took hold, but with much hesitation. But when he took hold, oh, how he took hold! He had a firm, perfect grip, and could look at her as if he could see past all the dust and decay and hurt and memories and really make her smile and glimmer again!
And maybe the young woman imagined it all, because while the young man did have quite the grip on her heart-strings, he didn't seem to know it. One day, whether he meant it or not, whether he knew it or not, he tugged... so hard that it hurt the young woman quite badly. It hurt enough to make her cry, and crying was not something the woman liked to do. She hadn't done very much of it since the first young man had tugged, or the second young man had untangled her heart-strings and then left. She felt cold and numb and falling-apart, like she had the day her sister had gone to "The Other Side."
She wanted to be angry at the young man, pelt him with the very crumbling bricks that she'd built up around her heart. Why had she let it fall apart so easily? Wasn't it easier to have a tall, strong wall around one's heart, so as to prevent this kind of thing? But she knew it wasn't so easy. It was easier, in fact, to not work on such a wall, but instead to be content with what little barriers there were, to sit atop them and stare out at the wide world, even when it looks gloomy or cruel.
She resolved to try and figure out just why the young man had hurt her as he did. Had he meant to? Had she truly imagined every moment when he'd given her heart-string that gentle tug, with a smile or a phrase? So though many others, friends who'd held grips on her heart-strings for a longer time, told her to build her wall high, block that young man from view, the young woman would not.
The young woman could not bring herself to tell this young man what she felt he'd done, why she was so very angry, and then so very sad. She wanted to be happy for him, so that he could show his own glimmering heart, but the tangled mess of knots, the bundles of bunched-up heart-strings wouldn't allow her. Instead, she sent a coded missive to him, in the hopes that he might understand and seek her out.
And she waited.
One evening, the young woman sat untangling her own heart-strings, working slowly as she admired the young man. Sometimes his words caused her to fumble and make a new knot where one hadn't been before, but she didn't feel as frustrated with this as before. She didn't know what to make of this change, and so kept up with the same.
Another young man appeared that evening, and told the young woman he had also seen her missive. He had decoded it, in fact, and told her (with a firm grip on a short and thin heart-string of hers) that he was sorry. A slip of gold heart-string fell into that young man's hands, but if he knew just what he had done, just what he had said to gain such trust and joy from the girl, he did not show it. He continued on, saying he had been there, that his own heart-strings had been as knotted and carelessly dropped as hers had been. And he told the girl something in a quiet whisper that no one else quite heard, but I shall tell you, for this is a magical story, and one ought to learn all the magic they can in a lifetime: You can do better.
Though it hurt the girl to hear these words, it also gave her strength. She resolved to work on this rather large knot that had been formed in her heart for sometime, a knot with a tiny slip on it titled "Love." She wasn't even close to being done yet, but she was doing better.
And better.
And better.
