A Story from the HeartMature

A more science fiction version of why a girl suffers from a broken heart.

 I sat there, hoping that she didn't stay home sick today or skip practice. I felt my pocket, just to make sure it was still there. I went over the plan several times in my head until...

There she was, leaving the gym locker, at 5:45. She must have wanted a less crowded, yet smaller, locker.

Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her hair slightly falling out. It was almost sexy, but in a horribly unattractive way.

She had a slight glisten on her face from sweat. Her bangs stuck slightly to her forehead.

She didn't look like the kind of person who would be in a sport, with her almost black outfit, white striped shirt, and overdone eyeshadow.

I scratched my buzzed head, trying not to look obvious.

As she walked out of the building, I whipped out my cell phone and punched in the number.

"Jason?" a female voice asked.

"Yeah, she's here," I said, my deep voice opposite of her.




I walked outside, feeling like the guy sitting inside was watching me. I set my backpack and work-out-clothes-bag down and sat next to them on the wet ground.

I gently wiped my forehead, trying to get rid of the sweat.

A car drove up slowly, and it was obviously not my ride.

A young woman with brown hair (that had horribly obvious highlights in it) walked past me, inside.

I sighed, and watched for my ride. I heard the door behind me open, but didn't look. I didn't care about it who it was.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and again I didn't care. I didn't look back, and I only listened for a little while.


"You did what? I told you not to knock her out that way!" a male voice said, slowly getting louder as I woke up. "It could've harmed her memory!"

My head throbbed.

"Sir," a female voice said, "she's coming to!"

"What?" he said. "Put her out! Hurry!"

A cold mask came onto my face. The air was cold. I felt my eyes roll into my skull as I passed out again.




I pulled my hair up into a messy bun, then washed my hands.

"Doctor?" a male voice said, as I turned off the water.

"Yes?" I replied.

"She's here, and she's ready."

I froze for an instant, then quickly finished drying my hands and hurried out.


I quickly hurried into the slightly dark room. It felt slightly too clean; but, then, what hospital doesn't?

I immediately began to set up the suction-cup-like receptors just below her collar bone.

As the machine turned on, a male nurse ran in. "Turn off the lights, please," I asked him.

The lights flipped off, and a 3-D image of her soul's heart came up.

"Oh, my God," I whispered under my breath, as I slowly walked around the clump of class-like, shattered maroon. "What happened to her?"

"She should be dead--emotionally--by now," the male nurse said.

I pressed a small button on the machine and waited as the pages printed out her story, last page first.

"Dr. Jones," he said. "You need to see this." I walked over to him and the 3-D image once more. "Look closer at each piece."

I got closer to the image--as close as I could get without messing up the machine or her soul (if her souls could possibly have more damage).

I gasped, seeing that each piece had slight cracks in it... She was trying to heal herself.

I ran to the cupboard and pulled out many sight enhancing objects--magnifying glass, glasses, telescope, etc.. I threw them onto a rolling table and rolled it closer.

I held the magnifying glass between my face and the image.

"We need to get her onto life support," I said to the male nurse, beginning to roll the table back.

I looked at him, and he at me. "Now!" I yelled and he ran from the room. The last page printed at I turned off the machine. I slowly removed the suction-cup-like receptors, and the rest of the crew ran in, then wheeled her away.

I quietly walked out of the room and into the cafeteria, the twenty- or thirty-some, undersized papers held under my arm. I grabbed a cup of coffee, pouring in a lot of sugar and cream, hoping to drown out the horrid taste of the coffee itself. I stirred it, papers tucked under my arm as I walked into my office.

Quietly, my finger clicked the mouse to my computer, giving it the command to turn off.

As I cleared of my desk, I found it obvious that now was not the time to let children tour my room. Rotting apples. Opened snacks. Week old coffee. I shoved it all into the small garbage.

Finally, a section of my desk was clean. I took a sip of coffee as I relaxed in my chair, holding the story of the girl's heart in my hand.

Tired from the day's work, I began to read...

I had never really had any real friends. Sure, I had some friends, and I'd help them through rough times, but they were never there for me when I needed them.

In my junior high years, a few of these friends turned their backs on me completely: making fun of me, putting me down. I never understood why, until years later. It was probably because I wouldn't fight back. So I understood depression, and even the feeling of being suicidal from a rather young age.


This was about like most other teenagers' lives. Beside the being suicidal at a young age.


After leaving the private school, I went on to my first public high school, which ran 9th through 12th grades. I was hoping for this to be an awesome change for the better. To be able to find people that could kind of understand me.

I was, of course, horribly mistaken. I continued to still hang out with my old friends. It wasn't that I didn't meet new people. It was just the fact that none of them were really like me.

Well, some of them were. Three in choir, two more in history, one here, another repeating there. But I could only find them in classes.

I figured out where most of them hung out during the later half of lunch, and would hang out with them for the last ten minutes.

The weirdest part for me was the fact that most of them were girls, when while going to a private school, I always got along with the guys better.

During choir, our teacher let us volunteer for a music festival, to help do random jobs. Moving chairs, tables, drums, etc.. Realizing I had nothing better to do then, I volunteered away my Saturday afternoon.

I knew a few people there, and met a few new people. Including him.

The first time we met, he was limping and faking a hunchback. I don't remember the very first thing he said to me, but I do remember him saying, "You're a slave, so you have to act like one."

I had recently found where many of the kids who were like me sat during lunch. A few days after the festival, I joined them for a few minutes, not completely ready to give up my old friends.

He was there. "Hey," he said to me. "Is your lat name T------?"

"Yeah," I replied, slightly shocked.

"Is your dad's name D--?"

"Yeah... Why?"

"My dad knows your dad," he said. "We have a picture of your dad on our fridge. My dad wanted you to tell him, 'T-- says hi.'"

"T--?" I repeated, hoping to get the name right.

I was shocked. I know a kid for three days, then find out our fathers know each other.

Slowly, I formed a crush on this kid, M-----, that I would admit to nobody. Not even myself. I told myself that I was in love with this other person, although I know now that I didn't, due to not knowing him.

Throughout the year, my depression and lack of sleep grew. I would not have admitted that I was suicidal then, but looking back, I know I was. I was hoping summer would help. It came, and I couldn't get a job. I was broke, couldn't hang out with friends, and unable to get a job. Along with the fact that I never had a boyfriend weighing heavily on my conscience.

Eventually, I got a job half-way into the summer. I was a waitress at a local restaurant. The owner was Mexican, and she served authentic Mexican foods, along with American and Italian foods.

The work there was pretty fun, and a good experience for a young girl. I worked, hoping to go to a foreign country.

One of the most awkward parts about working there was the fact that everyone considered me older than I really was. Instead of just finishing my freshman year in high school, they considered me a college student.


Only a freshman, and a waitress? This girl has some guts. And to be considered more mature, too.


I continued to work all day on Saturdays after school started.

I had finally quit choir this year, and had taken in some more useful classes: welding and woodworking.

My first day of school, I still was in the process of switching out of choir, so when I went to welding on the second day, I was fortunate enough to find M----- sitting in there. He helped me get situated and feel welcomed.  Well, as welcomed as I could be, anyways.

It was my last Saturday to work, for I had already given my notice to the boss. It was just before the dinner shift, and M----- was texting me, trying to convince me to get off work so that I could go to the fairgrounds.

I dearly wanted to go, for my grandfather had just died and I was feeling extremely stressed about working earlier, too. However, I remained strong, and told him I couldn't.

The next week, I left for my grandfather's funeral. He was texting me the whole time, happy as could be. It did lighten my spirit more. I had always considered death a happy thing, since it meant God was ready for you, and you no longer had to suffer on this earth.

Anyways. It wasn't until we were finally coming home from out trip (for we had to go to another state) that he even learned who's funeral it was. When he felt bad, I laughed.


I was having issues concentrating on the life of this girl. I had already finished my coffee and was starting to get tired. Although I was ready to go home, I knew the soul of this girl rested dearly in my hands.

I continued to read her story as I got more coffee.


I was at a friend's birthday party, knowing now how M----- had truly felt about me, and knowing he wanted a kiss. I could never forget how we spent hours trying to get isolated just to do this simple act that would impact my life.

We were finally alone when it happened. There are so many details about it I could share, but it would bore anyone--except me--to tears.

After that, we started to actually date continuously, and have crazy excuses for going out. Such as a football game. Or a "game" to kiss. Such as every time we came to a red light or stop sign, we'd kiss.

It was nearly a month after we started to go out, and it was going to be Thanksgiving. And he wanted me to go to meet his extended family (and closer family, too) that lived in South Dakota.

I knew my parents would never agree. So when they actually did agree, I naturally was shocked.

We rode together in the back of their family's vehicle, his mom driving the whole way down. On the way back, his sister sat in the passenger's seat. (She rode with a family friend on the way down.)

While down there, and after getting back, I would slowly get more serious with him, probably letting him go a little to far each time. After each time I got home, I'd regret letting us go as far as we did. But each time we got together, I'd let him go at least as far as the last time.

I would have never gone that far with any boy I would date. But he was special. He knew me as well as my brother did (and my brother knows me the best in the world); he became my best friend.

Occasionally at night, when we would text, we would talk about marriage, and what we would do if we ever got married. There were two definite places we had planned on going to. Tibet and Bohemia. We had a general life planned out. For once, I had a future. And it was one I looked forward to.

Christmas break, he left to see his father and little brother in South Dakota. Eleven and a half long days, he was gone. I never knew love hurt physically, too, until then.

He returned, and he started robotics as I started the musical. His schedule was more filled than mine, at the moment, so we would always work around both.

At this time, his sister and I would talk online. She decided to start a club, "The Lonely Girlfriends" Club, due to her also having a boyfriend that she rarely saw.

One week, I could tell M----- was not feeling the same. Every day, I'd ask him, "What's wrong?" and he would generally say something that I knew meant, "I don't want to talk about it."

Thursday night, it finally came clean that he wanted to break up. Devastated, I got online and typed an email to a friend that I had talked to earlier that night.

Without reading the email, he got online and started to talk to me.

That weekend was long. For eighteen hours, I tried to turn his friends against him. The rest, I spent trying to fix it and make them understand that they should get along with him (because he needs friends too). I also tried to understand my lack of appetite, lack of sleep, and try to prevent myself from committing self-harm and suicide.

I went insane for the next few weeks. I had to force myself to eat, for otherwise I wouldn't have. I started to take melatonin, for otherwise I wouldn't be able to sleep. My enjoyment in all things was lost, even ones that had previously kept me from suicide.

Everything I saw, everything I did, reminded me of him. I couldn't do homework without remembering his classes compared to mine. I couldn't draw without remembering him putting down the class Studio Art (which was one of the few slightly mean things he did). I would watch a movie, and want to vomit what little I had eaten.

I had also learned of him wanting to cheat on me while we were going out. And she was a friend of mine, and she wouldn't let him. And although nothing really happened, it still crushed me to know that he lied to me and didn't really love me, and that someone else had taken my place without me knowing it.

All I could do was go back to what I was good at and could do: act. The musical became my life, and I let nobody get in the way with what I knew. I would get mad at anything I could, and I would long to take out my anger. I refuse dot let anyone act like they knew more about plays than I.

And my character was who I wished I could be like: 20-21 years old, sassy, a bitch, and going to get any guy she wanted, along with not being afraid of being too honest.

Towards the last two weeks of the musical, I continued to talk to my friend, T----, online. We would share issues and try to help each other solve them. I had then told him of my wanting to no longer be M---, but a different person who was always happy, and not having some boy haunting my every waking moment.

It took him a while, but he finally convinced me not to do it.

However, I  later realized that I secretly did try to have that second personality without even myself knowing it.

Finally, the musical ended and I had started track. The running would give me time to think, while the pain it would give me relieved my soul.

I'd talk to those who were similar to me and were friends, and they'd help me with support. However, there was always one fact haunting me: he would never talk about me to anybody; and if they would mention me, he'd change the subject.

I know now that I should've gotten help, for wanting to harm myself, much less kill myself, was not something that should happen.

I enjoyed the running, but it was not doing as I had expected. The pain was still there. The boy still haunted me. During competitions, I'd still think about him, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, no matter how hard I tried to.


It stopped there. I rolled my eyes as I tossed the papers onto my keyboard.

I walked to the room in which we put the girl in. I looked at her, then laughed.

I pushed the red emergency button on the wall and everyone ran in.

"Take her home," I said. "She's only an over-dramatic teen."

"But, her heart..." the male nurse said.

"It'll recover," I said, leaving the room.

The End

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