Work Text:
December 12,1845
Gilbert Laurent was found dead in his pied-a-terre in Marseille yesterday evening. The famous author is thought to have died in his sleep at the impressive age of 96. The walls of his never before seen apartment were covered in papers and cuttings from “Le Figaro”. The gendarmerie sent to his building reported that “...his pen was still in his hand, and he had last written the words “Never throw them away! Never toss them out! Mes histoires brisées! Elle n'était pas brisée. Elle était belle..”
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I had always been reserved and quiet, however when I did show my face people would always say I was quite the gentleman. Throughout the years I grew more and more withdrawn from the people surrounding me. I found that they’re imperfect, and eventually I found myself unable to be around all of the flaws of humanity. Instead, I stuck to my writing.
And what a writer I was! I flooded the streets of Marseille with my words, and made sure every poet and artist in France knew my name. Paintings forged from my stories were hung in the Louvre, and my plays were performed in the Opéra Royal de Versailles before Kings and Noblemen. I was even presented with an award by King Louis Philippe I after my leatherback brought him to tears in 1834. I was the most celebrated author in Europe! But I had never told anyone of my work’s greatest remorse. The towers and towers of failed writing projects that sat in my study.
I hated those scraps of paper with all the life left in me. They were the failures and mistakes that made me imperfect. Yet even with all the loathing and hatred I had for them, I never brought myself to throw it all away. Perhaps they motivated me to write each piece better than the one before. Or maybe they were just too heavy for my back. Either way, all my life they sat there. Eating away at me. Making me go insane with the need to be perfect, even though I knew that with those parchments still around, I never would be.
I remember the night of December 11th. I was busy writing my newest piece of perfection, the story of a young paperboy who fell in love with a noble girl. That night, I don't know why, but my quill could not seem to put out the right words.
“As she wound him in her ar-” RIP! No. Not quite.
“She cradled him in her soft arms and-” RIP! No. No that’s not it.
“She wrapped her wings around her wounded dov-” RIP! NO! What did this line need? I suppose I’ll never know. What I do know is that I could not get it right. I didn’t usually fail as many times as I was failing at writing that sentence.
Now, I was usually a calm and collected man, but at that moment I got up and heaved the contents of my escritoire across the room and on to the shameful pile of torn papers and crumpled attempts. And as the candles went out and the streetlights dampened, I could have sworn I heard a shriek from the pile of scraps in the corner.
“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” It cried out to me. I fell to the floor as the papers seemed to resemble the shape of a girl. Its face was bruised and torn, and its limbs were struggling to keep attached. “WHY ARE YOU HURTING ME? I AM TRYING TO SOUND GOOD! I’M TRYING TO LOOK GOOD, I PROMISE!!”
The more it bawled the more it fell apart.
“SHAPE ME HOW YOU WANT! CUT OFF WHAT DOESN’T LOOK GOOD! BUT PLEASE, PLEASE MAKE ME PERFECT!” All of the ink that I used and spilled on it started leaking from its eyes in thick streams of tears.The papers on my floor started swirling around my office like a storm. It started grabbing at itself and tearing pieces of itself off of its body, each time wailing with pain. “MAKE ME PERFECT SO THAT NO ONE WILL EVER HURT ME AGAIN!” Its hair got shorter and shorter as it tore it off in scraps.
“I JUST WANT TO BE BEAUTIFUL!”
“Wait! Stop!” It turned to me, its candle light eyes illuminating its ink stained body.
“..what?”
“Wait, just wait.” I said to it soothingly. As the papers in my office slowly stopped their hurricane, I uncovered my face and looked at the result of my flaws. And when I looked at it I didn’t see a monstrous glob of defective and inadequate errors. I instead saw a creature. A being with complex thoughts, and strong emotions. It was tattered and torn and scared but tough and hurt and passionate but fearful and brave and… and it was.. It was all the things that I could never let myself be.
“You already are beautiful.” I said and made its ink soaked eyes widen. “You are. You shouldn’t tear yourself apart.. You’re perfect the way you are. Just as you are.”
It looked at me with all the emotions felt in a human’s lifetime and more in its eyes. And as everything around me slowly got brighter, I knew that was my end. As everything started to get farther and farther away from me, I saw it smile.
It was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.