Sonnis Life

Sonni was never a joyful little girl. As long as her family could remember, she was sad, tearful, and useless. It was her personality, they assumed. She was always quiet, never said a thing to her classmates or teachers. Everyone thought she was just very shy. But could something else have been wrong? Well . . . no one is sure. But it is certain that there were many thoughts going on in her head when she was quiet. As she got older though, she began to open up a little more, and a little more, until finally she was almost like the others . . . but still not quite. One day, she met a boy. He asked her for love and she gave it, she gave anything asked of her. It was the way she was. He used the love she gave until it had all run out. Then he threw her away, like an unwanted toy a child no longer desired, and she lay there abandoned for a very long time. Until one day, a girl came and helped her up. She was thankful. The girl asked her for love and she gave it, giving love another time, just one more try, she thought. The girl took the love, as the boy had, and kept it for a while, until one day she too no longer desired it. She ripped out Sonni`s heart time and time again until she lay there bleeding, with nothing, no love left, no life, useless. Like she had started out. The girl laughed in her face, kicked her heart to the corner once more and left. Sonni lay there miserable. Unsure of what to do, she was quiet again. She locked up her emotions; love, hate, happiness, hopefulness, excitement, misery, and angst. She sat there in the old school desk for months, concentrating on work, and nothing else. She lay in bed at night with no dreams, no thoughts. Her mind, soul, and even her heart was hollow. Cobwebs filled the insides with an ugly distaste. But Sonni could care less, she cared about nothing anymore. Until one day, a boy came up to her, he looked different than the others. He asked her for her heart, something Sonni had lost long ago. But she promised she`d give it to him as soon as she could, hoping he was different than the others who had torn her. He told her she was beautiful, but she didn`t believe him. She had a right not too. People had lied to her all her life, there was no point in believing what they said. But she always nodded and pretended she did. The boy used the invisible heart as long as he could, he took it to a girl`s house. The girl answered the door and looked at Sonni`s clear glass heart, covered in blood stains. She asked him what it was, and he told her. She frowned and asked him for his love, she had a real heart. The boy looked at Sonni`s heart and threw it on the ground. It shattered, and Sonni felt it. She felt it from miles away and looked down at her empty soul, horribly broken, horribly stitched. The boy took the girl`s heart and left Sonni`s on the ground to be crushed under the wind, rain, and misery. Sonni felt that she would never find a home for her heart, the one that was shattered, the one that was bleeding, the one that was stitched and most certainly broken. She hid in the corner of her mind for years, until one day, a girl came to her, and asked her for her kindness. Sonni told her she had none, and it was unfortunate. The girl looked puzzled and asked her for whatever she had left. Sonni looked down at the rags wrapped around her damaged heart. She unraveled them and picked out a piece of her heart, it was gray and rotting black, hardly beating. She handed it to her. The girl smiled softly and took it. Sonni felt a warmness inside her as she smiled down at her. The girl kept the piece of Sonni`s heart in her pocket for years, and never lost it. She treasured it and held it close. Sometimes though, she would rip it into pieces, and Sonni felt it. Even though she told Sonni it was an accident, she didn`t believe her, she could feel it was intentional . . . One day another boy came up to Sonni and stared at her, in ruins, she lay. Blood matted hair and sorrowful blue-green eyes, she looked up at him. He frowned and told her to get a hold of herself, it wasn`t the end of the world and he could help her. She stared at him and ignored him. The boy sighed and walked away. She thought about what he had said, but didn`t think too hard. The next day, yet another boy  came to her. He yanked her off the ground and stole her heart. She gasped, but put up no fight to get it back, she figured it wasn`t worth it, her heart certainly wasn`t worth fighting for. He took it and battered it, beat it, and abused it. She lay there in her mind and soul for as long as she could, before the boy got tired of the heart, and threw it at her feet, not with anger, but with disappointment . . . She sighed and rounded up all the pieces, for what seemed like the millionth time, she stitched them together with whatever thread she could find and cut her veins, filling it with what blood she could muster. She held it close as it began beating again, but not with much force at all. A few days later, that same boy who had told her he could help her came back and asked her for her heart. She stared into his eyes for a while before handing it to him. He took it, and walked off. She began to cry again, hating the way she was, she lay there for days, before she felt her heart become weak, the blood she could feel was draining out. She sat up, bloodless and looked at her hands covered in a sticky red liquid. She looked up, hearing footsteps near. The boy was standing there holding the heart in his hand, there was a large hole in the center, where black blood spilled onto the stones beneath them. He threw it at her, covering her in blood. He stared and muttered under his breath how pathetic she was. She sat there, broken, brokenhearted, and bleeding. She turned and stared into the water, her world dark. She lay down on the cold bloody stone beneath her and closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, she slept, dorment. Waiting for the light, waiting for the one who would stand her up and help her understand this life. Telling her he loved her, and meaning it. Holding her when she was afraid, and keeping her love forever, close. Never ripping her heart, but instead stitching it with a golden thread, his own heart stitched with the same, something they could relate too. And she would physically see it in their appearance, they would be the same, both beautifully broken, both longing for each other . . .

She lay there on the stone, staring into the black water, dreaming of that day . . .

But knowing it would never come . . .