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Submitted on
April 8, 2009
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        There’s a crevice in the wall where she hides her little baby girl, all plastic smiles and mechanical giggles. She cuddles it like it has a soul and speaks to it like it has a name. Its soft rubber skin has been covered with paper hearts and marker stars, and its little plastic ears have been filled with whispers of adoration and love. Its wiry blonde hair has been crossed into braids, twisted up above its head, and she has pulled a dress onto its synthetic body with the brightest little smile. She reminds it that it’s beautiful, even though it can’t hear. She fastens it tight into the beaten pink stroller and skips behind it as it rolls across the pavement, dancing in the sun like there is no tomorrow and yesterday is only a dream.
        And maybe she's only six years old, but she knows how babies are made. Not the ones you buy in the store, the ones you have to tear out of the cruel plastic covering; those are the strangest mystery. No, she knows just where the soft little babies with the tiny tulip lips and rosy cheeks come from. They are the lily of the deepest river, the star in the clearest night. They are the embrace of the warmest arms, the sweetest kisses, the strongest love. What more could be so powerful as to fuse together a new, tiny life?


        And maybe she’s only fifteen, but she knows what it all means. Something as wonderful as love can’t be something you can mistake. His voice is like silver, silky velvet and his arms are like all that is holy. He holds the seasons in the palm of his hands, all time and all existence. And when those hands skim over her skin, she burns like she’s a hopeless disaster, drowning in a cold fire. She can feel the beat of every heart, she can hear the thoughts of every mind. She can see the future and she can relive the past. But only in his eyes.
        And there’s a little basket where she hides you, her little baby girl, deep inside her. It’s all smooth pink walls and soft red blankets, because only God knows your every need. And maybe your heart can’t beat and maybe your ears can’t hear and maybe your lips can’t smile, but your soul twists and writhes within you; you’re more alive than most, you’re more real than she once believed that tiny doll was. Coiling and uncoiling, swimming in life, growing and growing. Tiny fingers, tiny toes. A tiny little perfect face with a perfect little mind and a perfect little heart that stumbles through its first beats.
        And then your tiny little ears begin to hear and you can feel her every tear, every scream, every gasp of agony. Mommy, you whisper within your mind, because you’ll never have a voice within this safe place you call home. Oh, your voice could be just like that little doll, only more warm, more loving, more real and more beautiful.
        But cool metal touches your skin and you pull back, tiny fingers pushing it away.
        And then.
        Oh, God.
        And then you’re unraveling at the seams, being torn apart, being broken into a thousand pieces like a shattered mirror, the shards skidding across the cool tile like glittering stars across the sky. If you had a voice, you would scream because it burns like fire and it burns like hell, but you’ll never cry out the way she did. Your blood drips and slithers from her, spilling onto their hands, but it’ll all be washed away in time.
        Mommy, your tiny little pink lips open and close like a fish out of water. Mommy, I just wanted to meet you.


        And maybe she’s eighteen now, but everything’s different and everything’s the same. Mistakes come and mistakes go, but some wounds will never heal and some cuts will always bleed. She still hears your voice in her dreams and she still sees your face on that little doll, stowed far away in a cardboard box with other fragments of an unwanted childhood. And then she runs her fingers over a different box, cold and silver. Foreboding. Dangerous.
        There are choices in life and choices in death, and she knows she has a right to them all. No one could ever stand up and cry out to her; she has the right to give and the right to take away. It is her life. It is her being. It is her choice.
        So she pulls the trigger.
        And she unravels at the seams. It burns like fire and it burns like hell, and her blood drips and slithers from her wounds. But somehow her blood is still more valuable than yours will ever be.
something's that's been floating in my mind for a while.
i just finally tied it all together with pretty words and stuck it on here.

this got a daily deviation. oh my goodness, i feel so honored. thank you all so much!
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Daily Deviation

Given 2013-06-03
paper hearts. by *theresambraun is a heartfelt work of fiction providing a much-needed perspective from those who treasure every human life. Please remember to respect the writer's beliefs when commenting. ( Suggested by Estuari and Featured by Nichrysalis )
:iconsnikkipikkins:
SnikkiPikkins Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2014
This is tragic, and very skillfully written.  Thank you for your words and your bravery.
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:iconpolkadottedcoffeemug:
PolkaDottedCoffeeMug Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2014  Student General Artist
Ohmyfudge ohmyfudge ohmyfudge I'm trying, and failing, at holding in my tears. That was so... I don't even know... All I know is that that was amazing and I hope to write like that one day. Keep up the good work!
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:icontheresambraun:
theresambraun Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2014  Student Writer
Awww, thank you so much! :hug:
Reply
:iconpolkadottedcoffeemug:
PolkaDottedCoffeeMug Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2014  Student General Artist
You're welcome! It's true! If I end up writing a good poem, would you mind checking it out if I sent you a note?
Reply
:iconspiderwebwisher:
SpiderwebWisher Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hello, I'm a contributor for LiteratureRoadtrip and you have been featured in this week's FRIDAY FEATURE! Thank you! :heart:
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:icontheresambraun:
theresambraun Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2014  Student Writer
Thank you so much! :heart:
Reply
:iconspiderwebwisher:
SpiderwebWisher Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
It's been my pleasure, you deserve it! 5 seconds hug 
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:iconcolleentj:
colleentj Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh my God oh my God oh my God
I'm so emotional rn No, I disagree! Heart 
This was so short but s o o o powerful, and was beautifully written. Thank you.
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:icontheresambraun:
theresambraun Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2014  Student Writer
Thank you so much! I'm glad it touched you! :hug:
Reply
:iconcreativsis:
creativsis Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Itīs beautiful. Itīs very very beautiful.
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