The Flimsy Heart Which Jilts By Krissie
The Flimsy Heart Which Jilts
By: Krissie Ana Maureen © April 27th 2012
The child looked around. The child felt greatly accursed. The child wasn’t sure why. From the child’s perception it was just an accident. The child’s perception assured her that first time offenses were warnings. Yet here she was accursed in some strange place.
It was bad enough for her to have to jilt the life she had had before. “Reconnecting is too hard.” She murmured to herself. Being the jilter had always left a pain in her heart. She would always leave a piece of her flimsy heart behind. Being the jilted was a lot worse. She would agonize over the Whys. It had always come to this – she was so solemn. This solemnness which she tried to burry deep inside would always creep back up to the surface.
There were too many old scars lingering about her. She would try to hide them. Giving fake smiles and laughs as to fool her friends and family. She would whisper to herself, “It’s alright. Everything is fine.” She exalted these lies to herself as pieties.
However, every time she told herself her fake pieties, another part of her would answer. “You inglorious little twit.” It snickered. This voice was an elusive plague to her. “You know those words are all false. Stop constraining yourself. You might feel better if you do.”
Being flustered the girl tried to repress the voice. She was not full of brazenness like other teens. She was profoundly scared of it all. Yes, she was soulful about her hobbies. But these hobbies were only done to remove some of the pain. She was very tactful at her hobbies.
While she overheard the girl’s supercilious chats about their hair clamps and embroidered items. She wondered why they acted that way. She overheard the pompous boys just the same. Their conversations consisted of games and the gauzes that some girls would wear around the place. Though what scared her the most was that the girls were more tumultuous than the boys.
She presumed that she was primordial compared to others. They spoke words she had never heard of nor could she possibly hope to understand them. She noted how almost all of them were avarices. They would gleefully pull cappers on each other. Some were quite hurtful.
While the child became flustered trying to understand them, she remain indifferent. An alien in her own home. “Then again,” She resolved, “This won’t be my home for long.”
She fought her impulses all of the time. Living with her grandmother and sister-in-law made her sick. They were reeking with vanity. That was something the child had always hated – pompous people. They behaved in ways that made her just want to slap them. No one was better than anyone else.
She had moved so often that she just longed to stay in one place. She didn’t care if the lights always flickered. She didn’t care if it was a clammy cave. She just wanted to stay put for a little while.
She would often try to write a sonnet, but it never came out right. She would crumble up the paper and then rip it apart. She soon realized that she was ripping herself apart.
She was a lost child. She was passionate about her persistence of pretending to be happy and okay. But her constant illuminations told her otherwise. It was no use. She would eventually lose. Like the sonnet she had attempted to form, she would soon be too broken to be pieced backed together.
Her happiness dwindled deeply. The solemn truth rose to the top. Showing its scars for the world to see. She would glance at others and wish she knew how to mingle among them. But how could she communicate? Silly gestures had never helped her own family understand the little child. How could that be used to communicate with others?
She would stagger all the time because she was scared. She knew she was lost. She could feel her throat closing. She knew she would soon be chocking. Gasping for air she couldn’t receive. She wanted so bad to cry in agony.
But she knew. She knew oh so very well. She just knew. She knew she had no dutiful friends who would come to her aid. No dutiful alley would rush to help her, much less save her.
Those around her would waver before helping her. Even if she cried and begged. They would waver before choosing rather or not to give her a helping hand. After all, they had done so before.
She knew she would be smothered in pain. She was always being smothered by her own confusion and pain. The pudgy, little dolls with their pudgy little faces were the only dutiful friends she knew. Yet even those dutiful toys could not go about gathering the missing pieces of her flimsy heart.
When her throat would begin to close, she could fill it. It was so faint, but it was there. It was her flimsy, broken heart. It was fluttering as she grasped for breathe. She thought she knew why. She had a tiny theory at least.
Her broken heart was fluttering because it was grateful. They had finally mingled with an elusive, yet dutiful friend. She was going to be the heir to something. Her flimsy heart fluttered for this gift. She would soon be the heir to sweet peace. An everlasting dream in which she could stay.
He was kind. That elusive nimbus had granted her number one wish.
“Thank you.” She murmured sweetly. “Now I’ll never have to connect, disconnect, and reconnect again. Thank you.”
The unsheded tears were how allowed to escape. They soon created a small pond for her body. They soon created a small pond for her body. The shattered pieces of her flimsy little heart were finally allowed to turn to ash. And while the body was found collapsed, no one spoke of it.
After all, she had not been there long. Few, if any, knew her, but no one really KNEW her. She had constantly connected and disconnected most of her life. Jilting all her life left scars. Though hot always visible, she was always so solemn. She had now received the end’s benediction. She wasn’t accursed anymore.
