On an island that no one knows about, there was a lone girl living with a dog.
On that island, she was never alone. She had her best friend and guardian, and later, she met other friends. These friends were not there for her in person, but she still talked to them, her words carried by electric signals and technology.
One friend was a cheerful blue, and as silly as she was. Talking to him made her laugh, and if she was having a bad day, he would help her forget about her troubles.
One friend was a beautiful violet, and was not as silly as her or her blue friend, but speaking with her made her feel like she was learning new things; about herself, about others, about life.
One friend was a vibrant red, but his attitude was cool, collected. Talking with him always impressed her, and yet she felt that there were things he wasn’t telling her, things that he was hiding. She didn’t mind, though.
She sent her friends gifts, for their birthdays or special occasions. More often than not, she wouldn’t get a gift in return, but she never minded. They were her friends, and their company and friendship were more than enough for her.
There were times, however, that the girl would look out to the vast stretch of ocean and wish that she wasn’t alone. Sitting on the sand, listening to the waves crashing, she would imagine another person on the lonely island, another voice to listen to, another face to look at. A hand to hold when it became dark and she had to return home.
Those days, the girl would curl up in her bed, and for a few moments she would cry.
It was a hot, sunny day on the girl’s lonely island, when she saw a plane flying over. She followed its shadow on the ground, as she had done times before, racing with it and never catching up. Planes flying over her island weren’t an odd occurrence to the girl, but she had made something of a hobby out of chasing their shadows when she was outside.
On that day, though, a package fell from the plane. Surprised, the girl followed the slowly descending parcel, finding it addressed to her. Then again, who else would it be addressed to? She began to undo the strings of the small parachute it had floated down with, the dull paper it had been wrapped with, overflowing with excitement at the idea that someone had sent her something, anything!
A smaller box was contained within. The girl lifted it out of the package, finding a folded piece of paper underneath. She took it out and unfolded it, skimming over the words written on it in red ink.
A smile broke across the girl’s lips. She opened the smaller box, revealing a green ribbon within.
From that day forward, the girl with the green ribbon in her hair always reminded herself that her friends were thinking of her, just as she was thinking of them. These thoughts never left her, not even on windy days that threatened to tear the ribbon from her hair and carry it away.
On those days, she held her ribbon down, determined to keep it.