The Nest

A short story written by Inaki “Ikkannii” Demotica

        One bright and early Spring day, I and three other young children surrounded a tree on a big, green hill. Each of us eagerly helf a ribbon which was tied to the tree trunk; my ribbon was bright yellow. The tree was a beautiful woman, and we fought and bickered over who would be chosen to be with her.

        “Please let me be chosen!” I pleaded. The other children scowled and glowered at me.

        In the midst of tension, the woman, who was a tree, let down a branch and presented an apple to the first child, my mouth went agape. I turned to my left and watched a bird, previously resting on a separate branch above us, fly down singing and land on the second child’s small head. Stepping further to the side and peering around the trunk at the third child, I saw his small hands rubbing the bark gently, and the woman let down more branches bundled together.

        When the leaves uncovered, the mystical nest was revealed to be the wooden diadem shaped like intertwined fingers or meat links. A child, when crowned, loses all internal conflict, doubt, and fear. The child becomes one with the woman, who was the tree and giver: The coronation was a rare sight–only once a decade, so many children like me competed to be picked.

        Looking at the third child, I stammerd words under my breath as my frustration grew, “he shouldn’t be the one to be chosen! He is soft and gentle, and I have more burdens than him that are killing my mind!”

        I focused back on the trunk, staring up at the leaves and branches above. I struck my little fist against the woman’s hard trunk, begging, puking out nonsense to be chosen instead. The woman stood still with no response. My breathing became frantic as I looked at the third child who I couldn’t stand anymore. Raising my hand and pointing at him, I swore to murder him, and he looked at me with his big, doe eyes, soft eyebags underneath. His gaze was telling me to act on my feelings, that he deserved to be taken down.

        I stepped forward, but right as I lunged forward at him, I tripped on the woman’s root embedded on the ground. Tumbling down the hill, I cried and groaned to the third child receiving the nest.

        The woman, the tree, giver, and forsaker, sat idly on the ground; her brooding, green leaves rustling in the wind above the scene. After the third child placed the nest on his head, he tilted an inch to watch my body, beaten and pained at the bottom of the hill. Tears falling down my cheek, his figure at the top of the hill became blurry as I winced my face. I thrashed my arms around, pulling clumps of grass from beneath me and throwing it up at nowhere. As my body grew weary, I eventually gave up and remained there.

        But the muscles on my face moved on its own, forming a grin. My teeth showed into the mud, and I started to giggle, then to laugh. “I was like a big boulder rolling down the hill!” I exclaimed as I rolled on my back, my arms outstretched.

        The fourth child on the hill was the same. He couldn’t hold back a smirk and a chuckle. He ran gleefully down the hill and jumped on me, and we rolled around the green grass. We shortly-estranged children laughed and riffed together and continued to through midday, afternoon, and sunset. That night, the child who was crowned the nest, left me and melted into the woman, the tree, giver, forsaker, and taker.