Little Things

I have lain here, unmoving, unopened, forgotten, ever since the world cracked open like an eggshell. The sun rises, warming my cold metal exterior. This is likely my final resting place, hanging limply around the neck of this young girl, but I don’t want humanity to rust away like I eventually will. So I wait. I wait for someone to pick me up, wait for the chance to bless one more life.

Many have passed me by, since the world passed away with a scream and trembling. They scavenge what they deem useful from the poor girl: her food, her bag, her shoes. They always overlook me. I don’t blame them. Who needs a locket in the apocalypse? I can’t keep them from starving. I can’t wrap their wounds. I can’t protect them from the cold. I can’t help them stand on the unstable ground the earth has become, shattered like the remains of a broken plate. A locket doesn’t mean much when the world is ending, not at first.

I have meant many things in the past. A promise of love from the man who bought me with his hard earned money, to give to the girl of his dreams. A gift from a mother to her daughter, to remind her what to look for in a man. A treasure. An heirloom passed from mother to child. A rite of passage. A symbol of the sweet age in between childhood and womanhood. But the best thing that I have been is hope.

The girl who’s neck I am bound to now, the one who lies dead in the streets, planned to die long before this disaster ever struck. This girl looked in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw. She was upset that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get higher than a C on her math tests. She was lonely, because her one friend did nothing but hurt her. She began to believe the world would be a better place if she didn’t exist.

When she took me out of a wrapped box on her sixteenth birthday, I could sense the warmth of her rare smile. I noticed her demeanor brighten every time she put me on in the morning. I felt her hand close around me whenever hurtful words came. I heard her whisper small encouragements to herself and believe them. I saw her in the mirror when she fit the dress that had been too slim for her. I was there when she finally aced that math test. I met the friends she so desperately wanted when she displayed me. I heard her heart quicken when she discovered the many, many people who cared that she existed.

She was happy before the earthquakes came. All because of an old, heart-shaped locket.

Sometimes it’s the little things, the inconsequential, innocent pleasures in life that spark enough joy to keep someone alive. To keep someone looking for food even when they don’t feel like eating. To care for a wound or prevent themself from creating one. To protect themself from the coldness of their own minds that tells them to end it all. To stay standing, even on shaky ground. It's the apocalypse. It was already easy to give up on life before all of this. It’s sure as hell harder now. So I hope someone does unchain me from this woman’s neck. Then I can give the same hope, that same joy to another girl who needs it.