Esme
MADISON BROBOFF
Esme had said her goodbyes, already. But only she knew. She heard the words as they escaped her lips. “Good night.” But it was more than that, and it was less, and it hurt for her to say. Telling someone goodnight implies that a good morning will follow. And she would have no such pleasure. After she said it, shutting the bedroom door behind her, her vision began to blur. It wasn’t until she blinked, and the room became clear again, that she realized it was because of the tears in her eyes. They rolled down her flushed cheeks, and she swiped them away feverishly. She didn’t have much time. But still, it all felt nearly impossible, walking over to the window beside her bed, yanking it open enough to fit through, sliding both feet over and onto the grass below. Not that she hadn’t done it a thousand times before. No, that wasn’t the problem. The latch on the rail of the window moved with ease under her touch, the grass felt soft beneath her feet. But her hand hesitated as she went to close the window, and she couldn’t explain it, really, but she couldn’t close it, not all the way. So, she left it, because she had to go, and because maybe, just maybe, a trace of her would come back, find its way back home through the crack in the window. Esme’s walk was long, and however much she wished to be alone, her thoughts were unwanted company. How could she know if this would even work? She passed by her old schoolhouse, and the church. She thought of the people crowding the benches inside, hiding from their own mistakes. When the church bells rang out to mark the hour, she didn’t bother to count. The growing darkness, the sun disappearing from the sky—it told her all she needed to know. She kept moving. She knew her way to the forest well enough, despite always being told to stay away. Everyone was. “There is evil in the wind, and in the soil, and we cannot say what will happen to you once you venture inside of those woods,”they would all tell their children. It only made her want to go there more. How naive it was! How naive to tell a child something, and not expect them to do the opposite.Soon, the buildings turned to oak trees, and the grass grew taller, and wilder, around her. The stone path beneath her feet crumbled, leaving nothing but a trail of dirt to guide her feet. She knew she was close, now. And when she stumbled on a pile of acorns, left hastily behind by some forest critter, she could hear her mother, telling her,
PROSE
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