There is a man who loves me. I am his. I belong to him.
He does not belong to me.
We spend every day together; I am always with him. He carries me close to him. I live in his pocket.
He and I make sweet music together. I sing for him; I play my heart out to him. I am his instrument.
But— I was not always his instrument.
I used to be a woman. A beautiful woman, a free woman, a living woman. More than that, I was a nymph. I lived in Arcadia. I remember my life there. I miss it.
I used to run through the forests, my feet as swift as the wind and my heart as light as a bird. The night air chilled my skin and Artemis’s silver light illuminated my path. I followed upon her heels and her words. We would begin our hunt when the sun set each night, and end when dawn’s rosy fingers peeked over the horizon. I was thrilled by the chase.
Until I was being chased.
I remember the day that he saw me. The man who loves me.
Pan. The satyr. The trickster.
I wandered back to my home from the nightly ritual, meandering among the flowers and trees and animals. The grass was soft and under my bare feet, the sun warm on my skin. Day was comforting, but night was when I came alive.
He was lurking in among the brush. I didn't see him until it was too late. I caught his eye.
His gaze was lustful, predatory. He looked at me like he was a lion and I a doe. I froze in fear. At first I wondered if I was to be his next meal. Then he smiled. His thin lips twisted upward into a lewd grin.
That was when I saw his teeth.
His teeth were not those of a predator. I became confused, wondering why he should look at me so. They were not sharp, vicious fangs. He did not snarl like a wolf, nor a bear, nor a lion. He was not a flesh-eater. His teeth… his mouth… it was that of a man.
Then I understood. He did not look at me as a lion looks upon its next prey; he looked at me as a man looks upon his next conquest.
A fire lit under my feet, and I broke into a sprint, him in close pursuit. I flew across the forest floor, praying to every god and goddess that he would not catch me.
Then a river sliced across my path.
I thought I was done for.
I sent up a panicked prayer. The water nymphs, my dear sisters, heard my call. They felt my fear.
Come, sister, they said. Join us.
Quickly, now, sister. Trust us.
We will hide you.
You will be safe.
Come, Syrinx…
With a glance over my shoulder, I stepped into the river, the cold water wrapping its icy fingers around my legs, grasping at my skin. I felt as though my feet were being pulled into the sand, rooting me there.
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I was no longer myself.
My sisters had transformed me.
I was a river reed.
I cowered there among the plants with bated breath. I shuddered as his footsteps— his hoof steps— crunched on the leaves.
He was more than a man- or less. He was an animal and a man. His human skin faded into fur. His torso twisted down into hooved legs. He was even more horrid of a creature than I had imagined.
I shivered in fear of his gaze, hoping, praying he would not notice me.
He did not.
It was worse.
He collapsed to his goat-like knees, pounding his fearsome fists against the soil. Then he let out a noise unlike any I've ever heard. Part scream, part howl, part sigh of anguish and frustration. It wasn't human. It wasn't animal. It made me feel colder than the frigid river. If I had been human, it would have chilled me to my bones and made my blood run cold.
The force of his cry
echoed,
whistled,
sighed across the tops of the hollow reeds where I was hidden.
He looked up again. Those strange, cold eyes fell on me once more.
I do not believe he recognized me.
It didn't matter, then. Not now.
His lips curled into a different grin; less lustful, more mischievous.
His hands closed around me.
He pulled out a knife.
I was frozen helpless as the blade sliced through what was once my body. What was once my living, breathing, beautiful body. I longed to run away, to defend myself, to cry out in pain.
I could do nothing.
He gathered me up with the other reeds and bound us together. He licked his lips. Then he picked us up and placed his mouth against us. And he blew.
He was disgusting and vile and cruel. I wanted to run, to cry, to scream, even to die. I could do nothing. Nothing but sing.
I can do nothing. I am his. I belong to him.
He does not belong to me.
We spend every day together; I am always with him. He carries me close to him. I live in his pocket.
He says he loves me.
I do not love him. I will never love him.
But I will spend forever with him.
Winner of First Place Senior Short Story in the Huntsville Literary Association's Young Writers contest and the 2019 Olde Leafe Prize
Comments