She was a girl who believed. A girl with freckles, and a spark that no one could put out. 

She started out small, like all people do. 

In the 7th grade, she had her first art class. 

She learned to draw 3D shapes and paint landscapes. The lines flowed easily through her hands, her inspiration from the world around.

Then came 8th grade, where she was in pottery class. Her hands, small and delicate, shaped the clay with ease. 

High School was next, and with a bigger school, came bigger inspiration. Her fingers itched to draw, and when she wasn’t put into art for an elective, her parents bought her a sketchbook and supplies. 

Her grades fell. Instead of paying attention in class, she would spend her time doodling. Instead of studying for tests, she would make intricate art pieces that littered her bedroom walls. Parent Teacher Conferences came along, and report cards came out. She was a disappointment. To her teachers, to her parents, and to herself.

Instead of wallowing in despair, she used her stress to make more art. She made an entire wall dedicated to her feelings. Some of them were just canvases of angrily splashed paint, but she never threw away anything she made, whether it was a doodle or a masterpiece

Her sophomore year began. She met someone, a boy with a sweet smile and bright eyes. She filled a sketchbook with drawings of him, making sure she kept it hidden.

In Junior year, he asked her out, and she said yes. Her wall of feelings was filled with bright shades of yellow, orange, and pastel pink. 

They spent a lot of time together. Sometimes they went to the movies. Sometimes they protested. He became angered with issues teens were facing that no one cared about. 

But then, it was time for SATs. She crumbled with the stress, studying day and night. Her sketchbook stayed empty, and her eyes lost their sparkle. 

He worried for her, told her to breathe, to draw, and to live. But she pushed him away, telling him she was fine. He told her to see a therapist, told her she was stressing too much. She finally agreed, knowing she couldn’t go on, not like this. 

The old woman was kind. She wore colorful skirts and kept her hair in a bun. The girl told her everything, barely pausing for breaths. 

She got some of her sparkle back, brought out her old paints. Her wall was now filled with green and white, because she was still learning what to feel. She still studied, but doodles found their way to the edges of her papers again. 

April came, and the boy came down with something. He was coughing, and missed so much school. The girl was worried, and soon, her wall was blue and black, and her eyes red and dull.

The SAT came, but the girl’s mind was elsewhere. She went back to the old woman, hoping she could help.

The old woman comforted her, told her everything would be okay. But the girl knew they were lies, as she’d heard it all before. 

Soon, he was in the hospital. The girl visited him every day, giving him flowers and drawings, trying to stay strong for him, but breaking down at home. 

Senior year began, and she was a mess. It was freshman year all over again, but instead of art, her time was filled with worry and research, and visits to the hospital. 

One day they called her, the nurses at the hospital. She was painting, home alone on a Saturday. They said he was really sick, that he was asking for her to come. She dropped her paintbrush and rushed to her car, her smock still tied at her waist. 

She drove recklessly, nearly causing an accident at stoplights. 

Just as she pulled into the driveway, her phone buzzed. Thinking it was him, she frantically searched for her phone, keeping only one hand on the wheel. She was in the middle of the parking lot, and everyone was angrily honking at her. 

And then there was a crash. An anxious mom driving her unconscious toddler to the hospital had bumped into her windshield, sending glass flying in all directions. 

The honking stopped, and everything went black for the girl. 

When she awoke, she was in the middle of being put under anesthesia. She kicked and screamed, fought to stay awake. She needed to see him. He needed her, she didn’t care if she was hurt. 

But soon, the chemical filled her lungs, and everything was black once more. 

This time, when she awoke, she was too sore to move, too tired to think. But then the memories flooded her brain and she nearly jumped up right then. But then she saw her arm, elevated and in a cast, propped up on a white pillow. An IV bag strapped to her left middle finger; her olive nail polish chipping away. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she held back a sob.

He might already be gone.

She whispered for help, her voice too weak to be louder. A nurse she didn’t see laying down rushed to her side, asking what she needed help with in a thick southern accent. 

The girl’s voice was stronger this time, as she said “Help me up”

The nurse obliged, fluffing pillows behind the girl’s back.  She needed to know where he was. 

She spoke again to the nurse, who never left the room. 

“I have--I have to leave.” she said, her voice cracking mid-sentence. She wished she wasn’t so helpless.

The nurse raised her eyebrows coming back to the bedside. She told her she couldn’t leave, not after a couple days' rest.

“I need to see him. Now.” the girl said, trying to sound strong and demanding, but instead wincing at the pain in her arm. When the nurse just shook her head, she decided if no one would help she would go on her own. 

Carefully, eyes closed, when the nurse wasn't looking, she peeled off the bandage holding the needle in her finger. She bit her lip as she removed the needle, setting it down on the bed. 

She attempted to lift her arm and nearly screamed at the pain.

But she knew she had to go, so she supported her hurt arm with her good one and got up from the bed.

Immediately, her head filled with dizziness, but she kept going, didn’t look back at the yelling nurse, didn’t stop to push her hair behind her ear. 

She had memorized the hallway of the hospital by now, and went as fast as she could to his room. When she arrived, she used her good elbow to open the door, gasping at what she saw when she entered. 

Three nurses and two doctors huddled around the gurney. They were yelling in every direction; they were so loud, they didn’t hear the door close as she walked in, cradling her arm. 

“He isn’t breathing!!!”

“Really? It must just be his shirt moving up and down on his own then!”

“Both of you stop! A life is on the line here!”

The girl cleared her throat, causing everyone to turn with astonished looks on their faces. It left a small hole in the huddle for her to see what was happening.

His eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. But his skin was pale, and sweat shined on his forehead.  She ran to his side, pushing away all the nurses and doctors and kneeling beside the hospital bed. She held his hand with her uncasted one and began to cry, the tears running down her freckled cheeks in silence.

“Please….Please come back to me…”she whispered, laying her head on his heart. She could feel it ever so softly beating, but that didn’t mean anything to her. She wanted him to be wild again, playfully tickling her as she painted. She wanted him to wink at her again, to smile his sweet smile, and to be healed.

Suddenly, he coughed, his eyes weakly opening. The doctors and nurses were no longer there, at least not in his vision. All he saw was her, sitting there looking as broken and tired as he felt. 

“I-I love you….”he whispered, ever so softly, his dry throat cracking as he spoke. The girl’s cry turned into a sob as she whispered,

“I love you too.” He smiled with sadness as his eyes drifted closed again. Soon the girl no longer heard his heartbeat, but she stayed by his side for a long time. The doctors and nurses left her to grieve. And she did. 

After resting at the hospital, she finally went back outside, returning to her car, broken and dirty in the parking lot. She decided to walk instead. Her legs ached, but she became immune to pain, the hole in her heart too big to allow for any feeling besides despair. 

When she got home that day, she found her old sketchbook, the one filled with drawings of him. She flipped through it, staining the pages with tears and smudging the ink. 

In the weeks following, she was stronger than ever before. She honored him by supporting the things he had supported,by finishing the things he had started.

In college, she raised over 8 million dollars fundraising a program to help depressed teens, bringing a spotlight to the issues that he had felt were too ignored.

When that succeeded, she became a black rights activist, remembering his rage at the way people were treated differently just because of skin.

After starting protests and making speeches, she became a therapist, remembering the old woman who helped her so much so long ago.

That was only part time though, and she still remembered him.

She still cried at night, remembering his silly, sweet smile and bright eyes. She went to his grave every weekend, bringing fresh flowers. She would sit there and talk to him about her week, as if he was still there with her. 

She ever so slowly mended the hole in her heart. She went back to painting and refilled her wall. This time, there was a rainbow of colors. In her mind, you didn’t have to be feeling one thing at once. Just because she grieved, it didn’t mean she couldn’t laugh. Just because she felt calm, it didn’t mean she wasn’t stressed.

She still keeps every art piece. She still has scars on her arms from the cast. She still has a very small, rarely noticeable, hole in her heart.  Most important, she still believes, and that’s all that matters.

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.


02:14 Jul 01, 2020

This story is perfect from all dimensions. You truly have a talent and a way with words. I felt goosebumps and my eyes became glossy with tears as the story progressed. Thank you so much for sharing. I am genuinely looking forward to reading your next story. Here's to hoping you win!


04:16 Jul 01, 2020

Thank you SO much. To call my story perfect is an overstatement, as it has it's flaws like anything else. I'm glad the story felt real to you. It was my pleasure to share. Hopefully, you won't have to wait long for my next story, as I am working on a couple at the moment. Fingers crossed at a win! Amany :)


Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
01:45 Jun 30, 2020

Wow! Wow, wow, wow, wow wow wow! This story was full of grief, sorrow, joy, and everything in between. The way you weaved the colors in throughout the whole story was amazing. It made me so sad when the boy died. I know a teenager who has depression, and I am friends with his little sister. Not many people know about it, and I agree with the boy that it needs to be brought to people's attention! I loved this story sooo much! I can't wait to read more of your stories! :) -Brooke


Rose Bingely
00:37 Jul 01, 2020

I agree with you Brooke! This story needs to WIN!


01:51 Jul 01, 2020

No kidding! Hey, Reedsy! Come on and pick this one to win, win, WIN! Please!


Rose Bingely
03:24 Jul 01, 2020



04:06 Jul 01, 2020

Thank you both so, so, so, sooooo much. To have this much support means the world to me. To be able to engage emotion with a story is one of the highest achievements a writer can accomplish. Brooke, I'm so glad you found a way to connect with my story in a way. As for the colors, the entire story at first was meant to be about an artist, but it stemmed into something more than that along the way. Be sure to let the person you know with depression know how loved they are. As for reading more of my stories, I will hopefully have a couple more ...


12:59 Jul 01, 2020

You're so welcome! I for sure will; he needs to know that everything's okay! You deserve to win! :) By the way, is Amany your real name? I read your bio and it said that Wish is the English translation.


Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Sarah Noel
16:33 Jul 29, 2020

What she said


Show 0 replies
Show 2 replies
Rose Bingely
19:39 Jun 29, 2020

Wow. I think this has been my favorite story I have ever read, or ever seen. It engulfed me in love and sorrow and invited me in. I didn’t want it to end! I loved that you constantly brought the wall of colors back in. It made it very consistent. I actually can’t think of anything wrong with this! I actually really loved it! I can’t get over it. I’m not just saying that. Wow. Thank you, SO much.


04:13 Jul 01, 2020

I had to check that it was my story you posted this comment on because I truly couldn't believe my eyes. Thank YOU for giving me the confidence I need to continue writing. I was actually surprised with how short the story was myself. To have written even ONE person's favorite story is, just, amazing. I didn't intend for the wall of colors to have such a big meaning, but after re-reading the finished product, I realized how meaningful it was to the story. Thanks again, and keep writing! Amany :)


Rose Bingely
14:40 Jul 01, 2020

Thank you Amany! Good job!


Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Deborah Angevin
22:58 Jul 22, 2020

Came here after your comment on my recent story; this is great! It pained me to see the girl running from her own hospital bed (peeling off the needles and stuff) to see him once again...


Show 0 replies
Sarah Freeman
14:04 Jul 22, 2020

This is such a powerful story! This girl had such an interesting and sorrow-filled life. Most people don’t have any of that come close to happening, but when it does it’s definitely a wakeup call. It’s an amazing story with so many good life lessons interweaved through the lines. This girl is strong, and all people should learn from her.


Show 0 replies
Cheri Jalbert
15:30 Jul 08, 2020

Very well written story. Great job making us feel the emotions of your character. I enjoyed reading!


Show 0 replies
Anoushka Jain
14:22 Jul 03, 2020

Amazing, simply amazing! The roller coaster ride of emotions made me cry. The way you incorporated the colours in, up till the very end was beautiful. It really is a fitting origin story, because the main character saved so many lives when she grew up, and it was a beautiful story that definetly deserves to win! One thing, I think you could maybe improve, is to write more. Write more about the relationship, and as in any relationship it probably had ups and downs, and you could write about what she did or how she drew him when she was an...


Show 0 replies
Courtney Stuart
03:35 Jul 02, 2020

woah. i loved this story so much! it was heart-breaking, definitely, but it was also filled with so much hope, especially at the end. i thought the symbolism that you used with her art was really cool! overall, i really liked the message it sends especially because i've struggled with feelings of depression myself in the past , and i think this story serves as a great reminder that depression is a real thing that affects a lot of young people, and that it shouldn't be so readily ignored. great job!


Show 0 replies