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Description
She was a fighter. She'd promise herself that no one would ever bring her down. It wasn't worth the sadness, the insanity brought about by negative thoughts constantly battering through your conscience. She would look in the mirror, look her reflection right in the eyes and say, "One day, I'm going to change the world. I'll make it a place where no one ever has to hurt, no one has to be alone, no one has to cry. I'll fill those empty feelings." She always hoped for so much, dreamed so tall; her wishes went beyond the stars. Even on her worst days nothing and no one could crush the goofy, innocent smile that radiated off her face and warmed even the coldest and bitterest of hearts. Her voice seemed to echo in my head, "Mom, I'm going to change the world with my smile!"

She was truly golden. Just like the sun. She was a hero.

I set the dust-caked photograph lovingly back into the decaying cardboard box, wondering how time could be so cruel. The attic was cold and dark, except for a small window on the far wall in which light was streaming in through. Dust motes danced a slow, aimless waltz in the light. If only my life could be so carefree.

I continued to search the attic for what I was looking for. A stuffed teddy bear with a red bowtie and glass eyes and a button nose. A token of a brighter yesterday, left to haunt the present and remind me that things didn't turn out the way they should have. I rummaged through various boxes, wincing here and there at objects that triggered broken memories to resurface and stab through my thoughts. This was more painful than I had expected.

Finally, I found the precious toy and hastily left the attic. I didn't want to ever go back there again.

It smelled like sawdust and pine, a scent that delighted my nostrils while setting my mind to wonder how the thing could smell so good after sitting in an attic for 10 years. Even after all this time, its fur still felt like velvet, and I caught myself tracing my fingers around its nose several times on the way to my destination.

I stopped at the door, and took a deep breath, hoping that this would do some good. Cautiously, I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and slowly pushed it open. The room was just the way I'd left it.

Once upon a time, this room was the room of a beautiful little girl. She was an artist. She loved stuffed animals, and I'd gotten about 23 shelves put up on her walls so she could show off her collection in an orderly manner to whoever strolled in, rather than pulling them out of a closet or from under the bed. Her walls were painted pink with periwinkle blue flowers, but no one ever knew because she had covered every inch of her walls with paintings. Paintings of rainbows, paintings of smiling people, paintings of happy images in general. She believed that black was a bad colour and seeing it in her room would do no good. There was a big desk for her to create on, with a pencil holder stuffed with coloured markers and paintbrushes and pens. She called it the desk of dreams, where all her imagination could be put onto paper, and eventually, onto her wall. She loved to laugh and she loved to smile, and frowning was against the law in her world.

I walked into the room and dropped the bear, suddenly realizing how pointless and stupid the idea was.

It was hopeless.

Today, this room is the lair of a 19-year-old girl, who is always alone and rarely says a word. Her beloved stuffed animals now lay ripped and strewn across the floor, used to take out anger and despair on. Her walls of happy paintings have all been clawed off by some enraged beast and the pink with periwinkle blue flowers has been bulldozed over with black. The room smells like salt because of the countless number of tears that have been soaked up into the carpet. The desk of dreams has been re-titled as the desk of blood. All the markers and pens and paintbrushes have been replaced with sharp objects because the only canvas she ever paints on now is her wrists.

I finally realized that the sun had burnt out and the world had lost the hero it needed.

Description
She was a fighter. She'd promise herself that no one would ever bring her down. It wasn't worth the sadness, the insanity brought about by negative thoughts constantly battering through your conscience. She would look in the mirror, look her reflection right in the eyes and say, "One day, I'm going to change the world. I'll make it a place where no one ever has to hurt, no one has to be alone, no one has to cry. I'll fill those empty feelings." She always hoped for so much, dreamed so tall; her wishes went beyond the stars. Even on her worst days nothing and no one could crush the goofy, innocent smile that radiated off her face and warmed even the coldest and bitterest of hearts. Her voice seemed to echo in my head, "Mom, I'm going to change the world with my smile!"

She was truly golden. Just like the sun. She was a hero.

I set the dust-caked photograph lovingly back into the decaying cardboard box, wondering how time could be so cruel. The attic was cold and dark, except for a small window on the far wall in which light was streaming in through. Dust motes danced a slow, aimless waltz in the light. If only my life could be so carefree.

I continued to search the attic for what I was looking for. A stuffed teddy bear with a red bowtie and glass eyes and a button nose. A token of a brighter yesterday, left to haunt the present and remind me that things didn't turn out the way they should have. I rummaged through various boxes, wincing here and there at objects that triggered broken memories to resurface and stab through my thoughts. This was more painful than I had expected.

Finally, I found the precious toy and hastily left the attic. I didn't want to ever go back there again.

It smelled like sawdust and pine, a scent that delighted my nostrils while setting my mind to wonder how the thing could smell so good after sitting in an attic for 10 years. Even after all this time, its fur still felt like velvet, and I caught myself tracing my fingers around its nose several times on the way to my destination.

I stopped at the door, and took a deep breath, hoping that this would do some good. Cautiously, I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and slowly pushed it open. The room was just the way I'd left it.

Once upon a time, this room was the room of a beautiful little girl. She was an artist. She loved stuffed animals, and I'd gotten about 23 shelves put up on her walls so she could show off her collection in an orderly manner to whoever strolled in, rather than pulling them out of a closet or from under the bed. Her walls were painted pink with periwinkle blue flowers, but no one ever knew because she had covered every inch of her walls with paintings. Paintings of rainbows, paintings of smiling people, paintings of happy images in general. She believed that black was a bad colour and seeing it in her room would do no good. There was a big desk for her to create on, with a pencil holder stuffed with coloured markers and paintbrushes and pens. She called it the desk of dreams, where all her imagination could be put onto paper, and eventually, onto her wall. She loved to laugh and she loved to smile, and frowning was against the law in her world.

I walked into the room and dropped the bear, suddenly realizing how pointless and stupid the idea was.

It was hopeless.

Today, this room is the lair of a 19-year-old girl, who is always alone and rarely says a word. Her beloved stuffed animals now lay ripped and strewn across the floor, used to take out anger and despair on. Her walls of happy paintings have all been clawed off by some enraged beast and the pink with periwinkle blue flowers has been bulldozed over with black. The room smells like salt because of the countless number of tears that have been soaked up into the carpet. The desk of dreams has been re-titled as the desk of blood. All the markers and pens and paintbrushes have been replaced with sharp objects because the only canvas she ever paints on now is her wrists.

I finally realized that the sun had burnt out and the world had lost the hero it needed.