The Heart of the Paradox

"There are three things you need to survive in this world; food, water and a twelve bore shotgun."

Looking out onto a barren street, an old woman stood at the grimy window of her musty living room, arms folded tightly. She brushed a few stray white hairs behind her ear with spindly fingers and straightened out her tattered floral dress, before making her way over to the nearest armchair.

"It's a great pity that things have turned out this way, but I suppose that's the way it goes."

After getting comfortable, she leaned over the side and pulled up a large black book, putting it square in her lap before gently opening it. Inside were photos. Old photos. Captured on film were two kids running along a beach, hair blowing in the breeze and arms outstretched in freedom. Beneath were the same two children again, this time sitting in front of a young man and woman with massive smiles. The old woman ran her hand over the photo and smiled, a sense of longing breaking through her gaze.

"Look at us. We were so happy, then. I wasn't a bad looking woman either, was I? Maybe not Joan Crawford, but not bad. Not bad at all. Now then, which holiday was this? Oh yes! Isle of Wight, 1975." she paused for a moment before adding solemnly, "I can't believe it's been two hundred years."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her dainty but tarnished silver earrings swaying on their hinges. For a moment she remained silent, the only audible sound being the ticking of a grandfather clock.

"Before that damned thing appeared. If only I'd known... I'd have at least taken better care of myself. I wouldn't have smoked so much, for one thing. I guess I can't complain though, I'm still reasonably sound for a woman of seventy-five. Still, I can't help but wish that it had all happened when I was twenty years younger. Ten, even. Could be worse though, I suppose. Oh! That reminds me; last time I went out foraging, I ran into another woman, heavily pregnant she was. Imagine it! Lugging a large baby bump around for 154 years! Nine months all in was enough for me. Anyway, we ran into a prospective. Feral looking, he was. Turned out to be a dud. At least we got out of the situation safe though, I suppose. I escorted her home after that. She lives in one of those old high-rises. I asked her 'Is it safe?' but she just sighed and replied 'What does it even matter?'"

She turned the pages of the album absent-mindedly as she continued, "I suppose she's got a point. That said, I'll be damned if I just give up. Right," she said, closing the book and getting up, "that's enough rambling. Time to get on."

She pulled herself back up again and walked over to an oak chest of drawers where, on the top of which, a ragged brown leather handbag sat. She opened it and dug around inside until her hand settled on cold metal. She grabbed it and pulled it out, opening her hand to reveal a bloodstained gold heart-shaped locket. With that, she marched out of the living room, through the hallway and up the stairs, until she'd arrived in a pristine white bathroom. Taking the locket over to the sink, she held it under the tap and washed it. After she'd gotten the last of the blood off, she turned off the squeaking tap and flipped the locket over in her hand, to see "G.W." engraved on the back.

"Remember," she said to herself in the cold bathroom, "when we bought this for her. I guess you would. 29th June 2021. A day nobody could forget..."

It was a sunny day on a small busy street and in the same but flawless dress, the woman was walking with another younger one, and both were laughing as they walked into one of the shops. The younger one lowered her voice as they entered.

"Gabrielle will be fine with him, mum. His foot has fully healed now."

"So he says, but last time I checked, he didn't have a medical degree in pediatry!"

"Podiatry. Pediatry is babies."

"Pediatry, podiatry, whatever."

"Anyway, it is his own foot, I'm sure he should know."

"Oh well, you know best dear. So then, you've already chosen her birthday present, then?"

"Yes, I've got it engraved," she said, checking her watch, "and it should be ready by now."

When they arrived at the counter, a lithe older man with a perfectly trimmed moustache greeted them.

"Mrs. Walker, yes? We have your order in the back. I shall fetch it now, if you would be so kind as to wait."

"Of course." she smiled.

After a moment, he returned with the gold heart-shaped locket and handed it to the younger woman, who promptly inspected the engraving.

"So madam, do you find it satisfactory?"

"Very much so, thank you." she said as she handed it to the older woman.

"Oh Anne, it's lovely." effused the older woman, wiping away fledgling tears.

"Hey now, what's that for?"

"Ignore me. It just makes me think about the past. How I wish that I could've given you all these nice things growing up, as you do for Gabrielle."

"You did things for us, mum. The holidays..."

"Huh," she choked, "yes, once in a blue moon. I know it wasn't enough, but—"

"No," the younger woman interjected, placing her hand on her mother's shoulder, "You did more than enough."

Back in the present, the old woman grasped the locket tightly in her hand and sank onto her knees.

"Why must we bear this curse?" she lamented, tears streaming down her face. "What's the point of living, if we have nothing to die for?"

***

"Right, well, I guess it's time."

Night had fallen and the old woman was standing in front of an alcove, dusting down the bookshelf standing inside it. She had glanced at the clock to see that it was 8 PM, and promptly set down the yellow cloth and pulled the gold locket from where it sat on the middle shelf. She strode through the doorway on her right and into a dimly-lit orange kitchen, a large dining table taking up most of the available space. On which, a dead woman lay.

There were cuts and bruises across her face, but that did not obscure one plain fact — it was Anne.

The older woman grabbed a stainless steel knife from the counter beside her and stood over the body of her dead daughter.

"Forgive me." she said coldly, plunging the knife into her chest.

She crudely cut away until what she sought came into reach, sinking her free hand into the cavity and pulling out a still heart. She set it down on the table and cut into it with the knife, as if she were butterflying a chicken breast, and then grabbed the locket from the counter and packed it into the opening, before squeezing it shut. She waited in anticipation. Then, a sizzling sound reminiscent of searing steak sounded from within the heart, and her own leapt with triumph.

"At last!"

After the heart had gone silent, she opened it to check that the locket had indeed vanished as she'd hoped. Upon confirming that to be the case, she grabbed the knife and diced the heart up. Then, after grabbing a box of matches from one of the drawers, she hurried out into her overgrown back garden, where in the centre stood a cooking pot over a dormant campfire. Under the cold light of the moon which loomed large behind her, she struck a match, lit the fire and promptly fed the diced heart into the pot. Having gone back into the house to grab a fork in the meantime, she pulled the pot off its hook when the contents were cooked and set it down in front of herself. She removed the lid and thrust her fork into one of the pieces, bringing it up to eye level and feeling a sense of unbridled glee.

"Finally," she said, "my ticket back to life."