Was she in the right?

 

Nymphs were capable of surviving decently without dawdling in the idiosyncrasies of mankind. However, as she sauntered through the hollow corpse halls alongside her callously amused allies, she felt particularly deviant as she took a shameless slug of raw bloodshed. Much to her associates’ pleasure, she wore a puckish grin that darkened her pale yet pristine face, intensified by murky sacks under jaded sockets. She felt fulfilled, even if she willingly tore away from the norm she had relished.

 

The powerful neuronal connection of nymphs spanned the entire globe. The few that wreaked desolation on this small settlement were the first to sin—the freakish anomalies to the natural order. Amongst the almost ubiquitous majority, there was harmonic discordance that never set foot in the communal nature they shared. Under the bloodless sky and dripping from their bloodied hands, for the first time, there were defects within perfection.

 

She was only 4 years old when she began feeling, having become a berserker upon many that started to think and realize. Yet she was born into commonplace maturity that held true for nymphs immeasurable years older than her. They were always in an idyllic state that never faltered regardless of habitat: nubile figures, lustrous hair, and dulcet voices. 

 

Elemental powers beyond mortal comprehension were in their possession; outlets for nurturing their homes. No matter how young or old they were, they understood their standing in the universe—a divine understanding that was shared by them all.

 

Flawless craftsmanship made these spirits, and at such an infant age, like every other nymph, she was built in accordance with a concept—an indescribable order that was just and natural. An omnipotent force and instinct that stumped all inconsistencies, only allowing for established similarity: Mother Nature. 

 

The harmonious program was etched intrinsically in every connection, the egalitarian dream as they followed the Mother’s physical and mental form.

 

The collective.

 

Then she broke it.

 

She witnessed other nymphs break the rules, and then suddenly, she felt an uncomfortably comfortable urge. She loved nurturing nature. The humans destroyed that. Abiding by the universal laws the nymphs knew, she shouldn’t repent. They were perfect in being, and even if some of them perished due to massive climate shifts, they had to be humble and avoid indulging in the compulsions that earthly humans and animals faced. 

 

However, for some inexplicable agenda, she relented. She began thinking thoughts, feeling feelings, and becoming aware of her awareness. She found an identity: capacities, differentials, and more infinitely foreign facets and layers that promoted her sin.

 

She racked her brain, and suddenly, she began considering—heresy swelled by unstable fervour. The minority—the sinners to the natural order—suddenly clicked with her. The thudding of bewilderment across the worldwide connection quickened. It hurt.

 

So, in the spacious complexity of this newfound world, she scowled into space in remote silence. She experienced sensory overload: a newly ruined environment, grimy smells of the deceased, and the sight of a familiarly confused yet enraged nymph minority group that shared her eyes. It was comforting at the time.

 

As more of her enemies surfaced in her blurred vision, she embraced this rebellious feeling. Every time they screeched, she’d howl louder. Every time they lunged or ran, she’d carve their skin open with manifested tree branches. If her right arm wore and tore off due to immense strain, she’d regrow it back in wooden form, dusted richly in spilt blood, as many times as she pleased. 

 

She ignored the increasingly wild signals in her head, which ended up causing her to outrage more in her group.

 

Like the other nymphs around her, they wore their respective elements around themselves. Her body was dressed in vines, and each time she dealt justice, they tightened and thirsted for more.

 

Her mind felt like it was truly working; she was doing right. She didn’t want to face further reasoning. She didn’t want to be asked any questions. She didn’t want to be denied anything at the moment.

 

The signals hurt. She didn’t care.

 

She sinned.

 

Then, as the number of their deviants grew, she crouched like a barbaric beast, staring out savagely into the beautiful scenery.

 

In this empty hall of fame she felt she was in, they stood in front of the desolated pain of the human race and were hailed by the sinking depravity of the two races. Beyond the glass of their strained eyes was nothing, a fruit of the discord between the broken nature of nymphs and the destructive nurture of humans. 

 

Utopia?

 

She wanted no questions, just satisfaction.

 

In the whirlwind of it all, she felt the tingle of grit soar into her baggy eyelids and unkempt hair as the whistle of what felt like true contentment sounded in the air. She didn’t feel misguided. She didn’t feel adrift from anything.

 

She felt at peace. The sight was too grandiose, and the dust flying into her eyes was too much. 

So she continued staring, clawed at the nub of her right arm, and regrew it to wipe at her askew eyes that saw red instead of green.

 

She still had so much to do.

 

–

 

She still had lots of work set out for her.

 

She stared absently at her robotic arm with lost yet more energetic eyes than she had the evening before. She felt the fresh air envelop her as she swept through crowds of humans and nymphs of different affinities on the bustling promenade in Miami.

 

The green atmosphere felt snug around her, and despite not having been able to embrace it for a long while, she was still thinking and recalling the events of the previous night with Rhea. She wanted to reason with her brain. She wanted to confront and answer her questions. She didn’t want to be denied the truth about her feelings.

 

She wanted to feel at peace.

 

“You are welcome for that fine craftsmanship—”

 

“Eh?” Evie quizzed Willo, propping an eyebrow up at him as they descended the loud, winding street.

 

“After I did your arm maintenance, you’ve just been staring at it—”

 

“Don’t you want me to fuel your ballooning ego? Let me admire it—”

 

“Actually, please continue. I’m not gonna deny praise when I can so—”

 

“Your snoring yesterday was louder than ever, so kudos to that—”

 

“Woah, hold up there! If it makes you feel better, you look more alive than you did yesterday. I can confidently say that you don’t look ugly anymore,” Willo larked, earning a sweet grin from Evie.

 

“Thank you, I slept… decently? Again, since you were snoring—”

 

“What were you and Rhea even talking about?”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Gossiping?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“About what?”

 

“We just went crazy on insults directed towards you—”

 

“Really now?” he questioned her with a smug smirk, stroking his beard as they both watched some police officers jog down the pavement with Puppet Backpacks activated and the mannequins in full view. “Sheesh, look at them bad boys. We shipped those to the brigade last week. They’re definitely gonna enjoy the multitasking weapon function on them, better than the last model—”

 

As Willo gushed like a fascinated child, Evie turned from the Puppets back to her right arm. Even though they clearly had a destination, she still felt lost. Even if she was well rested, she still felt drained. 

 

She desperately wished to escape this loop that she felt programmed to follow: working to avoid thinking, then when she did start contemplating, she’d simply go back to work because thinking always felt fuzzy. She’d go back to tirelessly working tomorrow, and she’d never be able to face her problems for another eternity.

 

“You ok?”

 

Evie furrowed her brow as she turned towards Willo, who gave her a look of concern. Rightfully so.

 

“Yes, I’m fine.”

 

“You sure? Have a lot on your mind?”

 

She was about to lie again. Then she’d wound up tricking herself again. Not this time.

 

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

 

Willo’s eyes widened. Rightfully so once more.

 

“Eh? You’re not going to deny it this time?—”

 

“Am I that obvious?” Evie asked in defeat, jokingly pouting like she always does.

 

“To utterly annihilate your bubble, you are readable—”

 

“I see—”

 

“I suppose it’s like something to do with you not—I dunno—not leaving your workspace!” Willo scolded, knocking an unfazed Evie’s head a couple of times until they reached the end of a zebra crossing.

 

“Ok, I’m sorry. I—”

 

“If you have a lot on your mind, talk to me about it. We’re not strangers, y’know?” Willo interjected, garnering Evie’s shocked expression as he was more serious. “Stop carrying so much weight. Shocking, but it’s not good.”

 

Silence ensued as they neared the SPC headquarters, the daunting building coming into clearer view.

 

“That… may be hard, but I promise I’ll… uh—”

 

“Spill the beans real soon? 100%, no doubt. You don’t need to finish that sentence. Now let’s go pack your things for tomorrow.”

 

Evie was taken aback for a second but realized that this was what she needed: a push. She’s been stagnant in her mindset for too long; she’s even taken the time she’s spent in this new age for granted. She took a look at Willo’s puffed-up smile and finally thought a confident thought out of her own will instead of some obligation to the mission she set for herself.

 

Cherish.

 

That’s what she wanted to do. She wished to cherish Willo’s optimism after many years of caring for generations. She wanted to cherish Rhea’s bubbliness. She yearned to cherish Beck’s self-confidence as a hybrid. 

 

Wants. Wants. Wants.

 

She acknowledged how much she truly wanted beyond her life goal. She realized how truly greedy she was. 

 

I don’t want to believe any of it.

 

If these thoughts were a product of her free will that didn’t mix with the mission, then she was fearful. 

 

The thought of her berserking and massacring innocents out of compulsion back in the Fallout still resonated at the front of her mind. It was her will to think differently that led her astray—the will to sin against the collective.

 

She clutched her right arm tightly and recalled her lust for power and dominion—some demented tickle to her fancy that would help preserve the nature she loved dearly. 

 

She didn’t want to succumb to sentience again.

 

It was too late, however, and that had fueled her to forge her vow. However, adding to the pool of her worries, she questioned if she’d be able to avoid depravity the next time she decided to start thinking independently. She wondered how Willo and Rhea could always feel so satisfied.

 

Evie groaned internally. It hurt. It hurt thinking about all of this. It always felt like she was being left behind, as if she were some sort of anomaly.

 

She was out of touch with the current order of everything once more, not fitting into the zeitgeist of this era.

 

She felt like a deviant again. 

 

In the hope that her feelings were of some status quo, she threw her biggest question into the air once more:

 

Was she in the right?