As I frolicked through the freshly flowering forest on that warm June af­ternoon, my gaze happened upon a sil­houette beyond the bushy brush ahead. Though this was not an unusual sight to me, I still heard my heartbeat hasten. The birds above began to chatter, an erosion to my individual rhythm. Streams of heavy ivory hairs flooded my face like a water­fall, entirely submerging the majority of my vision, making it difficult to identify even the simplest of things. A branch? Or maybe a fox? A deer? As I attempted to distinguish what this figure was, I quiet­ly hoped to myself that this dim outline would shift into an illuminated form of a human as I came closer. More specifically, one of the male variety. Something about them compelled me. Like the syrupy sap that seeps from the tree that you know doesn’t taste good because you’ve tried it. But you can’t help yourself to taste again.

The matching strands sprayed across my arms seemingly agreed and stood erect at this idea. But, as far as I was aware, hu­mans couldn’t reach this part of the deeply dense woods even if they tried; they’re too afraid of the ugliness they might meet here. It was most definitely a deer. And anyway, it was no matter, nymphs are considered superior to humans in any and all ways. So, what was it that I was want­ing? Why was I secretly seeking to smell that inherent aroma of inferiority?

Still, I held out hope for a human. It’s not often that I am able to observe humans without their knowledge, so my excitement at this possibility exponential­ly increased in time with my stride. With every step of my avid approach towards the unidentified outline, I became more and more impatient. I could not get there quickly enough. The ground recognized the excitement in my familiar feet and al­tered itself to become excessively elastic. I saw my steps soak into the soil and stay there, leaving my mark. Graciously gift­ing me more height with each bounce on my way to observe the unknown object, I thanked the ground for its consistent kind­ness towards me. It was the only one.

More commonly, instead of being the observer in this voyeuristic binary, I am generally the object of the human’s heathenish hunt. Men’s flammable eyes often follow me throughout the depths of the forest, visibly anticipating to view this virgin in her most vulnerable version. Their desires are entirely extinguished by the end of our encounter. Who wants a woman who talks back?

But right now, right here, at the very edge of the treeline, the roles were about to reverse. As I peered through the broken brambles that were once wholly entire branches, I spotted the figure that I saw from farther into the forest. What was it? Gazing upon this still slightly misty im­age, I let the surrounding scent inflate the entirety of my lungs. In... and... out. My throat burned with the unmistakable odor of mortality. Twirling my tongue, I could even taste the tang of it. I knew he was a human. As I exhausted this essence from my insides and exhaled, an overwhelming awareness washed over me as uncon­trolled as the impartiality of a wave but. was it possible? Could it be done? Could I get someone to actually want me? It was seconds like these that I sought to spiral back to last summer. To say more about my inability to say anything more, before this ability was altogether extracted.

My extreme enthusiasm to examine and engage whatever human unknowingly stumbled into my woody domain resulted in me running rather indelicately towards my intended destination. Seemingly from far off, my mother’s voice sloshed back into my mind.

“Walk like the waves.”

Acknowledging my obviously dis­jointed form, I returned to the balletic bounce she had ingrained in me to not only attract men, but distract them from the acidic aspects of my facial features. My appearance was that rare type which looks relatively reasonable from afar, but was the cause of intermittent eye contact when I came closer. I never understood why. My mother, a famed nymph of the sea, explained to me that these removed responses were due to the bitter taste I put into people’s mouths when they saw me. Or something of that sort. She said that when people get to view me at this close range, their tongues swell with this sort of sickeningly stinging sensation which makes them prefer avoidance to contact.

To put it simply, I taste sour.

She taught me how to trim my locks in such a way as to shield the view of my caustic countenance. My mother was constantly looking out for me in these ways.

“Nobody will love you if they get to look at you, Esme.”

And I made sure that no one ever did.

My four sisters had all enticed dif­ferent dignified deities, leaving me and my mother to our quaint cottage in the woods. They lived their lives with their husbands with wealth and wonder and overall warmth of a man to lie with. But I wasn’t jealous. My sisters had this natural alluring air that only increased with age, something that I just didn’t have biolog­ically. So... I wasn’t jealous. It was just nature.

“You’re just a little... different. It’s nothing,” they would reassure me, “stay behind us.”

When my sisters would walk, flow­ers grew out of the ground, springing up betwixt their perfectly polished toes. Pansies and petunias and daffodils and daisies. Both the beauty and scent of these plants left the surrounding men and gods both enchanted and enamored. I, however, did not yield this same everlasting effect on most men. Not at all. When I walked away from them, they expressed satisfac­tion from the relief of my souring spirit, not from the nonexistent flora that didn’t intertwine my feet. I emitted the opposite effect from my sisters. But, still, I wasn’t jealous.

But this time... this time, I would have the extraordinary ending I had always hoped for. After all, what sort of humble human could conceivably reject me?

As I crept closer to the line of bushes that separated the security of the wood from the exposed openness of the land, I beheld this mortal on the prowl. He was so obviously a hunter. My eyes focused on the faraway figure as it converted from fuzzy to incomprehensibly clear. Spasms began to swell in my throat. Stung at the initial sight of his body, my fingers latched onto my lean lower arms, desper­ately desiring to be grounded despite feel­ing like I was floating farther and farther away from my bodily frame. Somewhere in the distance a cock crowed. Sound bringing me back, I let go. My fingers had dug in too far this time.

This boyish man set before me seemed to encapsulate the essence of the unreal. There were so many words I wanted to use to describe how your violent visage entirely enraptured me, but no detailed enough description could translate your body to words in my mind. You were just, well, you. Your penetrating pupils paralleled the colors I often see when closed eyes combine with unexpect­ed light. If I close my eyes now, I can still sense the way you seeped into my skin. How you still seep into my skin. How your eyes danced. Identical to the ribbony structures that bounce off the rims of the nothing behind my unopened eyes. I longed to catch your fluorescent gaze beyond this cage of branches. I’m sure it would ignite me. I wanted to feel your hands which guide the net for your hunt, acting as daggers digging deeper into my mind as I long for their puncturing power. I noted how your body moved, ethereally untethered, and the intersection between your boyish countenance and your manly stature. One of a true hunter. I wondered if you knew how lucky you were to be touching yourself: to be the one to fill your bones. I wanted to feel the fluidity of your movements from the inside out. How could a human possibly look like this?

As my craving consistently increased, I began to follow you as you led the unsuspecting deer into your neatly woven net. I saw myself as similar to your help­less hunt: tricked and trapped yet willing­ly and wantonly attacked. The animals basically begged you to take them, as I privately petitioned to be taken by you too. Hunt me. With every slight gesture, I also felt as though I was falling into your impending yet inescapable trap which would ultimately lead to my downfall. I should’ve known when the birds stopped singing. But, the more I watched, the more

I

     was

                 willing

                                to

                                         fall.

After seeing you that first time, I bloomed as the flowers around me were blooming those early days in June. All that I wanted to do was open up to you, make you know how violently beautiful you were. But I couldn’t. Alas, cursed without a voice, I had no way in the world to cry out to you. But you... you must have. You must have sensed me secretly watching you beyond the brush before bellowing out,

“Is anybody here?”

Your words pierced like the stab of the spear you swung to poke and prod the creatures into their cataclysmic cage. They wounded me. I felt them enter into every orifice of my body with resounding reverberations echoing throughout their travel through every part: straight to my heart. A sensorium of all affable aches. Is this what love is supposed to feel like?

From the very beginning, I had been abandoned. My mother found me in the forest one winter evening, crying as kids do when they’re left for dead. I was tucked into a hole in the trunk of a tree next to a nest of nightingales-mother gone too. No clothes, no blanket, no mother, just a book. The only memory I have of my other mother are the vibrations of her voice when she would read that story to me. Closing my eyes, it’s hard to hear it now. A sort of creamily coarse, broken up by bits of continual coughing. Sometimes I recall her reading the book before bed, running her fingers across the crumbling red cover, as if she were desperately try­ing to hold on to what was falling apart a little longer.

Relatively recently, I returned to that book after I found it hidden under my cur­rent mother’s bed. The binding unbound; the book was basically broken. I wanted to recall what she read to me: the sounds I could hear through my younger self’s ears. Flipping open the collapsing cover, words spilled out with a current so strong, I was forced to remember.

The tale told of a story of true love. One of a couple, both full of reverence for the divine. These two survived a devasting flood of the gods, against all odds. No oth­er humans or animals or birds remained: only them. Their story had many other el­ements of course, but I knew that the most important message came from the binding love of these two. The reason they were chosen to survive. They had something special. Something everyone should strive for: to be in love.

Despite the tart taste in my moth­er’s mouth, she picked me up and headed home. She saved me. She likes to remind me of it all of the time. Without her, I would be nothing. Without her, I would be dead. But because of her, I became a part of something. A family. Sure, I didn’t look like the rest of them. But that didn’t mean anything. I was a nymph; I was sure of it.

In this moment, seeing you come closer and closer, my opportunity for me to announce my adoration to your abyss of brilliance had come. And I wanted to dive in deep. Since you called out to me as I was completely concealed, you must have been able to discern me through the thicket and thought my display desirable. Right? You must have. You liked what you saw. You would be the first. With a hes­itantly intensifying conviction, I echoed back,

“Here!”

This singular syllable sounded en­tirely strained as it emerged. My cheeks soaked through with an all-too-familiar sting. Shame. How badly I wanted to use words that would work out my vocals chords in order to articulate any and all of the affection aimed at you. I wanted to talk. To weaponize my words. Instead, I was left to reuse other’s residual phrases whose meaning faded with every second that I delayed. Your words tasted stale, pre-owned. They didn’t reflect me; they solely reflected you.

Your eyes darted back and forth to­wards the sound of my words, to the forest teemed with trees. I knew that I could not approach you prematurely; it was imper­ative to establish a pursuit between the predator and prey. After all, you were the hunter. No noise emerged beyond the trees during your protracted pause after my re­sponse. Your eyes continued their search. The birds that fluttered past tried to twitter in my ear as they frequently do most mornings. Two sat atop my shoulders, seeking for me to sing back. I couldn’t make music with them now. Love was at stake. I shot them a ghastly glance and their sounds were silenced as I anxiously awaited your reply. Would you reply?

Why hadn’t you replied?

How long had it been?

I had lost track.

Eventually, after Time’s elongation had ended, you called out,

“Come to me!”

Hearing these words coming from you struck the sum of my system.

Did you mean it?

Did you actually want me to come? Without much hesitation, my mouth involuntarily opened, and I readily reflected,

“Come to me!”

Did you still want me to come?

Or would you come to me?

Hearing my voice seemingly echo outside of my body, and for just a second thinking it was yours, my guts had gone gloopy as I melted into a mushy puddle of pining for you. I hoped you would see and recognize me as one with the water, and one with you.

After realizing it was merely me as your echo, I restlessly chewed at my less-than-obedient tongue awaiting your actual response. It arrived more robust and rapid than your prior reply.

Your gaze seemed to ricochet among the surrounding circle of trees desperately searching for movement as you questioned,

“Why do you run from me?”

I actually run from everyone, not just you.

But delighted at the fact that you would chase after me even if you thought I was desperately dodging you, I sought to aggravate this accelerating carnal pursuit. Pull me, push me, prod me. I playfully proclaimed the same as you, being as rep­etition was the only way I could contrib­ute to a conversation as I countered,

“Why do you run from me?”

Despite being unable to say anything unique, I could at least still participate in some light-hearted banter. I had never done this before. I found it fun.

Upon only hearing my plagiarism of your words yet again, you looked puzzled. You looked perplexed. You looked... perfect. I stood there staring at you for quite some time, through the thicket of my hair. I wondered if you could catch me. I hoped you could. As I admired you, you attempt­ed to coax me out by calling,

“Let us get together!”

Immediately I became inebriated with the prospect of an encounter of passion with the brimming of your body. I envisioned the instant of contact where my person would melt into yours, mixing until our insides were indistinguishable from one another, sipping on each other softly. I knew that I never wanted to be separated from you. Now, or ever again. My skin seemingly tightened around me, making me feel cramped in my own body. I had to break free. I would do anything to escape into yours, in all your beauty. Under the influence of your captivating capacity, I hurriedly hollered,

“Let us get together!”

With this proclamation, I smoothly sprung over the shrubs and through the timber towards your anticipating form. My movements were altogether effort­lessly meticulous; my mother would be proud. Pearly pale strands streaked down my back and away from my face, unarming my view of you: a vision in all its violence.

For a split second, it seemed as though you smiled at me. It seemed as though you wanted me. It seemed as though your face would not fade like so many others had once they really, truly, absolutely saw me. It seemed as though that with my appearance being bare you could actually see me. But that’s the thing about seeming. The seeming made it worse. This seeming shattered me.

With arms outstretched to fulfill my temptation to touch, I recognized your countenance contort at the union of our ever-approaching eyes. What had hap­pened? Didn’t you want me? As if you were being ambushed, you retreated away from my admiring advances a few steps back. And then I understood. You had lied. You had lured me out into the open. It was just a game for you. A hunt. And I had been your prey. The fire for you that had been ignited inside me now circulated solely to scorch my coloring cheeks. My toes sunk in. If I had to guess, I would bet you said something stern as I stopped and stood there dazed as a deer in the afternoon daylight. In the moment, how­ever, I could solely see the severeness of the storm flooding your lips from those few feet away. Your words splashed out; I could see their stream. I could tell you were speaking but couldn’t tell what you said. Your waves were too loud. All that I was able to hear was the stinging silence sustained by your rejection. The ringing in my ears finally ceased. I heard my heart snap into two distinct pieces, both of which I was still willing to give you.

As I collected what you shattered, I caught the final phrase you would ever say to me as you growled,

“I would die before I give you a chance at me”

“I would die.”

You didn’t repeat these words, but they echoed in my mind.

I began to shrink and shrivel in shame.

You didn’t repeat these words, but they still echo in my mind. They scorched my skin, stripping it away, layer by layer.

You didn’t repeat these words, but I had to.

Until only bone remained.

My throat reluctantly thrust forth to reflect these same words you had just stabbed at me. This time, however, I challenged my curse. I caught these words attempting to escape on the tip of my tongue. Unfortunately for me, I was caught in their current, and it was much too strong. Your sounds bounced around the barriers of my mouth until I couldn’t keep them back anymore. As my teeth and tongue wrestled trying to resist their inev­itable removal from the mirror that is my mouth, I managed to muster a whimper,

“I give you a chance at me”

You let out one lewd and lavish laugh, before pivoting to tend to the deer that you caught. They had all bled out in your net, and lied there, lifeless. With that shameful conclusion to my newfound fan­tasy, I withdrew and scampered back into the security of the wood, teeth twitching with guilt.

Shivering with shame’s chill, my back to a tree, I sought to stay concealed from you as I recoiled at the remembrance of our embarrassing encounter. Did you taste that same sour?

As this humiliation seeped deeper and deeper into my veins, my body red­dened, overflowing my river with the rage of your ruthless rejection. It submerged me starting with my feet then my knees then my legs then my arms then my mind then my face and my eyes. I drowned deeper each second. I had to swim away.

Frantically fleeing the ever-approach­ing flood, I chose the tallest tree to seek safety on. I clung to the base of the wood, salt splashing into my mouth and lapping at my flailing frame. I was sinking into your sea.

My grasp tightened around the ridges in the bark with my bare hands, the mis­matched indents gripping my fingernails back tighter.

Somewhere out there, my mother would be wondering why I hadn’t come home yet. It was rather late. But, in the end, she wouldn’t really care.

The tips of my fingers felt flaming as they scratched further into the bark taking me higher and higher to the tip of the tree. A whiff of wind blew my bony hair into my face at the top of the tree, covering it completely, and I let it lie there and con­ceal me. It was better this way. The birds resumed their ballads: the soundtrack to my sadness. Who would want to see me anyway? Not you.

Despite the straight silvery strands that stayed overlapping my eyes, I could still see through them. From this height, I could see further than I have ever seen into the forest before. From this height, I could see every tree. Some high, some low, some in between. The biggest and tallest seemingly swallowed the smallest with their majestically imposing mass. Becoming one. But nothing compared to the green. An ombre of tones unapologetically exploding out of the earth. Secretly residing where only I have seen. From the top of this tree.

My eager eyes traced the tippity tops of every tree to ever exist. I wanted to see them all. But not just see, absolutely absorb them. They cascaded across fields and cliffs and hills except... there. One opening. In the middle of everything. The only place in the forest, it seemed, that was totally covered by light.

For that split second, looking at that light, I forgot. I forgot I was ugly. I forgot I should be ashamed. I forgot how I taste. I forgot that not even one person could love me: not even me.

I let this faraway light drench me. Its brightness enticed my eyes, begging me to look closer. But it stung, straining to see this field in all its brilliant fluorescence. Grass gleaming, reflecting a glare in my eyes. A pleasant pain. I needed the golden glow that filled the gap in the forest to fill up all of my holes too. If I could just get there, I was sure I would be satisfied.

Smoothly sliding down the trunk of the tree, solely stopping to untangle my hairs from broken brambles, I began my break for the field.

Step by step by step I ran towards the light. No... I wasn’t running. I was being pulled. I was being pulled towards the light. I was being guided. It was out of my control. I needed to go towards the light. If I went into the light, I felt this strong sensation that it would fill me, the Esme that had always been so empty. Sticks snapping beneath my feet pulled me back to the now, reminding me that fall wasn’t far off. And neither was I.

After what seemed like only a centu­ry of seconds, I arrived at the edge of the fluorescent field. The birds became louder. This was it. A shimmering yellow bubble, a caramelized case, wrapped the entire width of the field. A barrier to keep people out? Would it allow me to enter?

I stuck my finger through the frame. Transparent and syrupy feeling, I pulled out. My fingers still felt tingling, I want­ed more of a taste. Headfirst, I staggered into the glowing goop not without much effort. Looking back now, it was as if I was struggling to step into a story that was not my own.

Immediately inside the confines, ev­erything became brighter. Everything was new. The sky shimmered like it was its first day on earth, not yet drained by the perpetual cycle of every day. The ground gleamed like it had never known a passenger, left undefiled and undisturbed. Until now.

Looking beyond the up and down, I beheld a perfectly round pool situated in the center of the field. The water was a brimming bursting blue and looked cool enough to taste.

Suddenly aware at how thirsty I was after how much time I spent talking today, I sought to sip from the water. I couldn’t wait to taste its taste. But, before I could move a muscle, a figure dashed out of the woods with a force that could flood the earth. Seeing the shape stop at the edge of the pool, I smoothed the strands from my line of vision to see what it was. My hair was always in the way.

You.

You couldn’t even care enough to look up. To look at me. Looking at you. Unfazed by the fact that you, a human, humiliated me not even an hour ago. You were too busy looking at something else.

You were fixated on something in the pool of water in front of you, it looked like your eyes were being dragged to­wards it. Sure, it was extraordinarily colored, lit up by light, but what else was so special about it? What made the water seduce you so?

Normally, I would be rational: think things through. Normally, I wouldn’t even think about what I did next. But you weren’t normal. And you didn’t make me feel normal. Quite the opposite, actually.

I didn’t even have to tiptoe. You were too enthralled with everything in the water. How could I be to blame when you didn’t even fight back?

It wasn’t like it was premeditated or anything.

I didn’t even take the trouble to “walk like the waves.” I didn’t even care to hide behind my hair. My mother wouldn’t have been proud.

Somehow my hand met your head. I latched on. My fingers intertwined with the nape of your neck. Dipping your face into the water, just a little at first, you didn’t even seem to mind. Sure, you fought after a while, who wouldn’t? I felt you fill to the brim, almost about to ex­plode. Eventually though, your beautiful body went limp. Face sinking first into the water, your body breathlessly followed. You penetrated the pool in one fluid mo­tion.

I didn’t really feel anything after that, you would expect me to though, right? I was decidedly too distracted about what was happening to the ground below me.

Between my feet, two flowers coiled up and around, wrapping my toes. They were a winter’s white, indistinguishably identical. Yellow centered, opening up to seemingly face each other. Like two lovers.

See, I knew I was a nymph. Just like my sisters, flowers grew when I walked. But this was a new flower, something I’d never seen before. Sighing, I turned and stepped on the flower, flattening it. It was an ugly one anyways.

A bird bellowed out behind me as I started to wander away, seemingly say­ing goodbye. I didn’t take the trouble to respond, though. I had talked enough for one day.

A few steps from the flower, I looked back for a mere moment. My eyes met the wrecked remains. Vacant, no prospect of blooming now.

I guess, maybe, I became the hunter after all. So, I didn’t feel bad. It was just nature. It was just [human] nature.