Her Brother's Heart

She said it once, she said it twice. The doctor blinked, his expression uncomprehending of such a request from one so young.
  'I'm sorry,' he apologised again, a slight frown pulling at his eyebrows, 'Could you repeat that?'
Absent-mindedly, the girl picked at a loose thread in her clothing, 'I want you to cut out my heart,' she answered for the third time, 'I want you to cut it out and I want you to give it to someone else, someone who can really use it, appreciate it.'
  No less baffled, the doctor shook his head, 'But... but why...?'
'I think it's dead,' the girl replied, her tone emotionless, 'Or, at least, staying in this body kills it. My soul cannot sustain my heart. Not anymore.'
  Intrigue tainting his professionalism, the doctor leaned across his desk, 'And what makes you say that...?'
  Meeting his inquisitive gaze evenly, the girl said, 'At first it only hurt a little bit. That was when life started to go bad. My brother got sick, but all the doctors promised it would be okay. Only it never did, he never improved. In spite of that though, we all hoped.'
  Nodding, the doctor motioned with his hand for her to continue.
'Gradually, I got used to the hospitals, to the long white corridors, I even became immune to the blood transfusions. But the near misses always threw me. I hated the idea of my poor brother participating in such a delicate dance with death.' She stopped, 'However one day the near miss wasn't quite a near miss...'
  'Your brother died?' the doctor said, his voice echoing with unspoken condolences.
'Yes. That was when my heart really started to throb. Each morning I'd wake up, and expect to see a tattered hole in my chest. Or worse, discover one day that my heart had ceased to beat altogether, I had nightmares of it rotting inside me.' Continued the girl, 'But I survived that. It was hard, but I and my heart survived that. We had a funeral for my brother, and even the sky cried. The graveyard was a black sea of mourning souls that day, but I am not idealistic, I imagine that the graveyard is often like that. To that place, my brother is just another body in the ground. Just more rot.'
  Adjusting his glasses, the doctor asked, 'Was it the funeral that 'killed' your heart?'
'No.' The girl said frankly, 'It was my parents who did that, not that I blame them. I suppose they had weaker hearts than I. After my brother's funeral they drifted away from each other, and into themselves. Their relationship didn't crash and burn like in the movies, it just collapsed. Like a cardboard box left out in the rain... Only this time,' the girl placed her hand over her chest, 'My heart didn't hurt. From that day on I have been free from the suffering caused by emotions, but I have tasted no happiness either. That is why I wish to give away my heart.'
  Offering her a stethoscope, the doctor asked, 'Would you like to listen to your heart? To prove to yourself that it's alive and beating?'
  But the girl pushed the medical instrument away, 'No. You do not understand. It's not that my heart doesn't beat, it does beat, and it works fine. It's just that I don't need it. I feel no emotion, I need no heart. Someone else out there needs it more than me, I know it.'
  Leaning back in his chair, the doctor studied the girl, 'That's rather an original outlook on things,' he murmured to himself.
  Staring at her feet, the girl whispered, 'My brother died because he needed a heart transplant.'
The doctor closed his eyes, 'I see.'
  'If someone like me had given him a heart then he'd still be here today.' She finished.
'Do you think though, that having died, your brother would wish for you to follow in his footsteps?' questioned the doctor.
  Smiling slightly at the audacity of the query, the girl said, 'No, of course not.'
Within her chest, a stale sensation stirred. It was warm, and yellow like melted butter, slowly, it began to thaw her cold, beating heart.
  The doctor grinned too, his brown eyes wrinkling at the corners, 'What is that you feel?'
And she looked up to him, and she cried, warm, joyous tears of rediscovered happiness, 'I think it's my brother,' she choked, 'Living inside of me, in my heart. He always used to make me laugh, and now I feel like laughing.'
  'Yes,' agreed the doctor, standing up and embracing the quivering child, 'I think it must be.'