Paper Towns - Alternate Ending

PaperCuts

In life, everyone gets a miracle. Surviving something impossible, not getting struck by lightning, or perhaps winning the lottery. However, we also get a tragedy. A parent leaving, or maybe a friend passing away. Whatever it is, the goodness of a miracle should outweigh the hopelessness of tradgedy. It didn't work out like that for me, you see. My miracle was Margo Roth Spiegelman. My tragedy was, also, Margo Roth Spiegelman.

The old barn seems to of had its fair share of filth and decay. Parts of the roof are missing, the sun lighting up segments of the rotting wooden floorboards through these gaping holes. Rust coats what would have been a large claw-footed bathtub, and the wall has concaved, shattering splintered planks around the room. The first thought to cross my head was that this was not a place near elegant or endearing enough for Margo Roth Spiegelman.
It hit me like a truck, a sudden burst of sourness clogging my lungs, forcing me back. A putrid smell; of abandonment, of disgust, the lingering smell of death. Quickly grasping myself, I continued exploring the barn, yet the scent of decay continuously forces me to stop. I examine the whole room, yet there is not a trace that Margo stepped foot in here. I move toward the last part of the shack, the one place I have not yet checked.
She sits, in a black desk chair, seemingly writing a note in her infamous black notebook. Her soft, mahogany brown hair falls like a curtain down her back. We, I have found the paper girl.
Yet something is wrong. A piece of the puzzle is not quite fitting into place. My heart stops, and my breath cuts off as I realise. The horrible relisation, the loss of hope. I cover my mouth with my hands, and tears start to trickle down my cheeks. No, this can't be happening, no. I repeatedly say to myself, as a kind of false reassurance. She was supposed to be here. She was meant to be waiting. But instead, her lifeless body sat still. Eternally frozen in time. Never to feel a beating heart, or a breath of air. Nothing.
Margo Roth Speigelman was dead.
And it was all my fault.
I could have saved her, I could have gotten here quicker, understood the deeper meaning of it all, but no. It was too late, there was nothing that could be done.
"Q, are you okay down there?" whipered Lacey. I heard her footsteps creaking along the old floorboards, coming closer and closer. I turn around, and see her walking towards me. She stops suddenly, staring at the desk chair. I watch her expression change, from a chirpy 18 year old girl, to realising, that her friend is gone.
"Oh my god, oh my god" she starts sobbing, running towards me and lying her head on my shoulder. We stand in silence, I guess having someone else here is supposed to numb the pain. But no, nothing could stop the horrible emptiness that lingered inside me. That part of me, that craved hearing her voice, seeing her smile. That was something Lacey couldn't do.
How are you supposed to go on when the love of your life is gone? I stared at Margo's body, and I caught a glimpse of something in her hand.
"Lacey..." she look at me, and I continued towards the desk chair, and stopped when I saw the piece of paper.
"It's a note" I whispered. Curiosity flooded my veins, yet I was terrified of what could be on that note. What if it was something I wished to never hear?
"Read it, Q" she murmured, she joined me at the desk, where I picked up the crinkled note and smoothed it out. Blinking away tears trying to blur my eyes, I started to read.

Dear Quentin,
I am so, so very sorry. I never meant it to end this way. I tried, oh god knows I tried, but I simply couldn't continue. I guess the last string finally broke. Q, the world is a filthy goddamn horror show. There is so much pain, you know? But you need to continue your life, be happy, get married, all of that crap. Just don't forget me, okay? I think it's kind of ironic, now I fully understand what happened to Robert Joyner. I hope you never have to understand, it's a kind of hurt you can only experience first hand. I hope you can be the hero, Q. I really do. When you leave, tell my parents that I am sorry. Tell Lacey I am sorry. Even tell bloody Jace and Becca that I am sorry. Don't let me die in vain. I don't care if it is 1,000,000 or 1, I want to be remembered by someone. And Q, that starts with you. I hope I see you again, someday, who knows, in whatever existence haunts us after this thing called life. Goodbye, I hope things are different tomorrow.
Sincerely,
Margo Roth Spiegelman.

I reread the note, over and over, trying to make sense of it all. Tears streamed down my face, landing in blotches on my dirty jeans. What would I say to her parents? I don't exactly think 'Sorry, your daughter is dead' would suffice. But for now, that was none pf my concern. We needed to get home. Lacey warmly took the note, and grabbed my hand, guiding me back towards the minivan, where Ben and Radar were still inside. We delivered them the grave news. The drive home was better in silence.

**********

At Margo's funeral, we sat in the front row. Hearing the teary documents of her life, I couldn't think anything but how she would have absolutely loathed this. I shed a tear, knowing that this was the last time I would see Margo, her small, delicate hands, her smile. That's how I wanted to remember her. Not a sad, lonely, lifeless corpse. My parents hugged me, and Ben, Radar and Lacey sent me sympathetic looks from across the yard. I would never get to fall in love with Margo Roth Spiegelman, and that broke me just as much as life broke her. Tragedy does outweigh Miracles.
In the car drive back home, while staring out the window into the dense, green shrubbery of Jefferson Park, I came to a conclusion. 1. This town was make of paper. 2. Everyone here was made of paper, including myself. 3. This paper town wasn't as good as it seemed on the outside. 4. Everything was uglier up close. 5. I would never spend another moment, another glance, another laugh with the love of my life.
So what were we here for? What was our purpose for existence? To feel these miracles and tradgedys, to be happy? To understand the meaning of life? The answer, is who knows. Who knows what we will face tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. All I can fathom is that I am so grateful for everything in my life. And although I will forever live without her, I know that I took and cherished every second I had.

My Miracle was Margo Roth Spiegelman. Yet my tragedy was, nonetheless, Margo Roth Spiegelman.

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I hope you liked my story! Feel free to leave feedback, constructive critisism, ect. 😊💞 Hope nobody died of feels while reading...
- Chaya