By Riley Faust, TIWP Student

The woman on the rooftop let out one last shaky breath before she jumped.

She heard someone from below scream as they saw her plunging down, down towards the unremarkable gray concrete, broken up by cracks and little plants that seemed determined to live. Another person shouted, his words unintelligible and, if she was being honest, insignificant. It was funny how much they cared now. After all, they hadn’t just a moment ago, when she sat up there, legs swinging in the open air, looking down from heights that should be impossible yet weren’t even remarkable in this world. They hadn’t cared even when she stood, raising her arms to the sky, and faked taking the step off. Perhaps now that she was interrupting their day, a broken body on the sidewalk, the blood spots on a previously spotless white blouse, an obstacle for them to step around, her life mattered to them. They would take a moment to stop, pity her, maybe even wonder what her story was, what prompted her to do this, and then go about their day. Forget. Maybe one would remember tomorrow, or even the day after, but then the only reminder would be the dark spot where the crimson of her blood sank into the pores of the cement.

When she was higher up, just a moment ago, really, she could see the trees. Not many, just slivers of green through the gaps between windowed buildings that she had to strain her neck to see the tops of. The leaves were bright, a stark contrast from the dull blues and grays and beiges that populated the city. She wanted to see them one last time before she was gone. The last remnant of nature that they allowed. See, they would pave over the cracks in the sidewalk where sprouts grew, cut down the vines that crept up the abandoned parking garage, but they would never touch those trees. People would be outraged. Even so, they trembled in the breeze, as if knowing their time was limited. Nature pales when faced with human desire. She contemplated going to the building next to the park, to that rooftop, but it seemed a shame to pollute such a beautiful place. Even if death is truly the most natural thing of all.

She looked down at the fast approaching ground. One man stood there, arms out to try and catch her, but when he looked out and saw everyone else backing away, he joined them. So much for solidarity. People say the world slows down when death rears its head, silver scythe slashing towards you, flashing in what little light remains, but it didn’t for her. Perhaps because she wasn’t afraid. Even so, she was aware of it all. Her hair streamed behind her, not in her face for once. The sun was partially obscured by clouds, but she could still feel a gentle warmth on her back. The air was cool, even as it whipped by her and made it hard to breathe. As she got closer and closer, something told her to close her eyes. Instinct, maybe. Trying to shield her from the impact. Even so, she kept them open, despite the tears forming at the corners. Nothing could keep her from this moment.

Finally, as her body hit the cold solid ground, she didn’t.

She kept falling.

The sky around her was blue and bright, unlike the watered-down gray of the city. The land below was nothing but blurs of color. Even so, she could see so much green.

She smiled as she dived closer and closer. Deep swaths of green became forests, trees stretching up towards her as if to catch her. Off to the side, a town lurked, and people that appeared little more than smudges on a page moved around. If they were anything like the people she knew, they were rushing around, completing task after meaningless task only to die before it was all done. As she got even closer, a fence appeared, wooden and short and with enough large holes that it was probably useless, whether it was meant to keep people out, or the forest in. Right beneath her, there was a clearing. The grass below was bright, and she longed to feel its soft touch on her skin. Even if it was just for a moment, as she was still falling, and it was from much too high. 

Finally, eyes still stinging from the air, she closed them. It was enough that this world existed, that she had seen it, tasted the clean air, and seen that remarkable, irreplaceable color that was so lacking before. And she waited to hit the ground.

She collided with something that felt strangely smooth and strong before a loud thwap sounded, and she finally felt that soft, dewy grass beneath her, tickling her nose. She laid there for a moment, waiting to lose consciousness.

But she didn’t.

She opened her eyes and flipped onto her back. For a moment, the sun blinded her, but then a figure leaned over her, blocking out the light. She blinked a couple times before the person’s face came into focus. It was a woman with long black hair, her mouth set in a straight line. She looked to be in her early twenties, but her eyes seemed to disagree. It was hard to figure out just what color they were, as they shifted when the woman tilted her head. They looked almost liquid, washing over her irises with blue, and then green, and then a sparkling golden brown. But even more confusing was the age that laid in them. Despite her youthful face, her eyes spoke of decades of hardship and adventures, hard-earned wisdom learned throughout.

Something nudged against her cheek. She looked over to see a grand wolf, fur silvery in the sunlight, grinning at her with its tongue lolling out of its mouth. Arm shaking, she raised up her hand and brushed it along its velvety nose, then ran her fingers through the fur between its ears. The only softness that had ever come close was the one she felt in department stores, rubbing her face against faux fur coats when no one was looking. Even so, it paled in comparison to the real thing. She looked around her, and more wolves were gathered around. The wonder must have shown on her face because the woman, who was still leaning over her, laughed. The sound was gentle and strangely beautiful. She looked back up to the woman, nearly breathless.

The woman smiled, and spoke.

“Welcome to the forest, my friend.” She reached her hand down to help her up, and pulled her to her feet with an unexpected strength. She spun around, body still aching a bit from the fall, but still longing to take in all that was around her. A broken net of vines lay around her feet. Flowers bloomed, scattered throughout the grass, little bursts of color. At the edge of the clearing, berry bushes were ripe with fruit. Somewhere, a river rushed through the trees, providing for all. Finally, she turned back to the young-old woman, who was watching with a small smile. She didn’t need to ask where, and the why and how seemed both insignificant and impossible. So she asked the one question that remained.

“Who are you?”

The woman raised her eyes to the sky, mouth quirked to the side in thought. After a couple beats of silence, only broken by the calls of birds, near and far, she answered.

“I suppose I am the Witch of the Woods. But you can call me Esme.”