You look at me and you see what? A strong, confident woman with a lion heart waiting to be tamed? A beautiful stranger with such unique features that she’ll appear in your deepest dreams for years to come? A person with an intense, intimate backstory just waiting to share it with you?

I know the reality though, don’t think me insane. I know that you’ll walk past me and look at me for a brief second, but then your life will continue and my face will never cross your mind again. You won’t wonder if I’m a morning person or a night person, you won’t care if I prefer tea or coffee, the thought of my hopes and dreams won’t cross your mind.

But I am a night person. The brisk, night air that swoops in as I crack open the window puts a smile on my face. The look of a dying star makes me feel so inferior, in a comforting way. The thought of everybody in my town being asleep while I can roam the streets excites me.

I prefer coffee. The bitterness as it slides down my throat, with a slight shudder of sweetness from the teaspoon of sugar I add. The way my eyes slowly open more and more as I drink it, and the way it makes me feel refreshed but in a groggy sort of way. How it burns my tongue a little on the first sip which jolts me into consciousness.

My hopes and dreams could snake across the earth and back again if I unfolded them. I wish deeply to travel across Asia and witness the culture. I want more than anything to be a mother but just one child because I still want some freedom. My mind constantly wanders to the thought of having a career in healthcare, to put something good into the world.

But it doesn’t matter, not to you or to anybody else. So why should it matter to me? But then again why shouldn’t it matter to me?

I refuse to live in a world dictated by the rules and regulations of the violent minded people, who seem to be in charge of what matters.

My main dream is to do something to stand out, not in the way that I’ll be taught about in history books, but in the way that I’ll die knowing that at least one person was proud of what I did. Me.

There’s nothing wrong with looking nice for your future employer. I smirked to myself to myself as I sat in the restaurant underneath a huge, New York City hotel, applying a seductive, red lipstick. I looked around expectingly as I gathered my faux fur coat around my shoulders. I saw a gentleman in his mid to late 50s enter and shrug off his jacket, looking around the room until our eyes met. He gave me a polite smile as I stood up to greet him, my jacket falling back to reveal my slinky black dress. “Nice to meet you, Esme.” the gentleman said warmly, grasping my hands in his. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Smith.” I smiled as wide as I could. “Oh, please, call me Grant.” he pressed his hand into my waist and slid it down to my thigh, making my smile falter for a moment before I quickly took my seat.

There was a short pause while I tried to arrange my thoughts, deciding on what was worth a job and what was worth a slap. Before I could say anything, Grant broke the silence. “Miss Teller you understand what this job entails yes?” “Of course, Mr Smith-“ “Grant,” he interrupted me, leaning in so his hands brushed against my arm. I laughed nervously and dropped my gaze to his smart, black tie. “Sorry, Grant. Yes I truly believe I am the perfect candidate for the job and-“ “Esme I’ve actually booked a room here would you like to come up for a drink. It’d probably be a little more comfortable.” he had interrupted me twice in the past minute but I forced the smile back onto my face. “I- I think... I would love to come up to your room with you,” I felt defeated and humiliated, until she walked in.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I knew she was looking at me, I met her gaze just behind Mr Smiths shoulder. She gave me a slight smile and began to stride over. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, her skin was ivory coloured and silky, her eyes were so bright green even across the room I could see the specks of brown and gold, and her dress fitted to her body to well she seemed to be a mannequin. Before I had snapped out of my daydream she was stood at my table, dripping in gold jewellery. “Leave us,” she said, barely giving Mr Smith a glance. “I’m sorry but we’re in the middle of a job interview,” Mr Smith said incredulously, his eyes darting between me and the woman. “Leave. Us.” this time it wasn’t a choice. He obediently scampered, almost scared. I stared at her, mouth wide open, as she sat right where he was sitting and bought out a cigarette. “I’m Frannie,” she said with a warm smile. “I’m Esme,” I returned her smile with ease. The world finally seemed right.