Diary Entries of a Dead Girl

"Wanted:  One heart.  It must be scarred along the edges, cracked...but only a little."  She sets the pen down next to her, ink balled upon the tip in black, and glances at the diary.  Torn and tear-stained pages clutter the space between the covers like tissues in a box, the clasp hanging off-kilter.  Broken.  A steak-knife and hammer lie near the tips of her left fingers.  She picks up the pen.

"It must not age, but stay naive forever.  It must be fitting for a girl of sixteen to still be able to dream with.  It cannot shatter."  The down-slanted scroll, learned over eleven years and many alterations, blares the thoughts of a young girl's life.  Twelve pages from the end, the script begins to change, to mutate.  The last entry is a mess of jumbled words and half-hearted pencil strokes.  Despair.

"Wanted:  One heart in mint-condition.  It cannot be used.  It cannot fail.  It must bring her back to life.  Bring her smile back to me.  Non-refundable."  The ball-point falls from her numb grasp as she wipes away another sob.  It's been three months, but the curiosity was killing her.  The diary was the only thing she hadn't opened since finding Sue laying facedown in the tub.  The floor had been red, she remembers.  The same color as Sue's words across the pages before her.

"Please send it via UPS Priority.  Fragile.  The sooner, the better."  Because it's worth a shot, at least.  Even if it could never work.  All she wants is just the chance to try.  To make the heartache--both of them--disappear.