Ocean

The waves stay the same, it's the people who change.

The beach is always the same at dawn. The shore is empty, seashells hidden in the sand for children to pluck at noon; the wind is strong, pushing the waves up a little further each time they hit against his ankles. Everything is the same, except for the rock way out in the water, just before the dropoff.

The rock is a massive thing, jagged on the sides but relatively flat on top, poking only a bit above the surface in places; hard to spot if you're not looking for it. But today it is occupied, two faint figures whose outlines are painted with ink as the sun slowly ascends, and the boy can't help but wonder why two people are here breaking the beach's routine.

Stepping forward, he accepts the water resisting against his motions and begins to swim, pushing himself out to the strangers resting on the rock. A tidal wave of questions slosh inside of him as his arms slice the water ahead, but he loses his thoughts to the sound of water clapping against his ears.

The waves are never harsh in the morning, but they are never kind, either; goosebumps line his arms and legs as he dives underwater, adjusting to the sea as one would adjust to a cold bed, patient yet comfortable.

When he reaches the back of the rock he notices there is only one figure there, and for a moment he wonders if there had only ever been one, the rising sun had simply cast shadows where they shouldn't have been, perhaps. Regardless, he hauls himself up behind the figure, a girl on the edge of the rock just before the dropoff, water pushing itself up to her waist where she sat.

If he had come up from the other side of the rock he would have been able to make out the lined stains running against her cheeks, the glassy tone of her eyes reflecting the rising sun perfectly. But he hadn't come that way, and so he hadn't known she was crying.

She doesn't wait for him to speak, only for him to pull himself up onto the rock behind her.

"Have you ever met a mermaid?" She asks, voice even as she stares off into the sea, body tinted red and pink. "They're very odd individuals; they never take anything seriously." She brings a hand up to rub at her face before brushing it through her hair, fingers catching in sea foam covered tangles. "They think everything's a joke, the world is just one big comedy sketch to them."

"Are they pretty, at least?" The boy replies, resting on his knees behind her as he grasps a piece of protruding stone to steady himself. It is easy to be brushed away with the tide if you are not anchored.

The girl lets out a small, weak laugh. "The most beautiful creatures in this wide, wide world, even though they smell like market fish." She laughs again, a little heartier this time, and the boy joins her. "They aren't meant for our world, though, and we truly aren't meant for theirs."

Author's Note

A short piece I lost direction with. Inspired by "A Touch of Strange" by Theodore Sturgeon. Written and posted on a phone, so pardon any spelling errors.

Reviews

[Isemay]

That's really lovely. The descriptions are vivid and I think you've got the balance just right with what you've shared and what you've left to the reader to imagine.

I think I'm going to have to hunt down a copy of "A Touch of Strange", too. That collection sounds amazing, thanks for mentioning it!

[Fin Buckley]

It's a very nice short story, I read it out of a science fiction/fantasy anthology. A quick read, but gives interesting insight/a different view on mermaids. Highly recommended. :)

[Carol Cashes]

I don't think it lost direction at all. The descriptions of the beach, the rock and how the sun changes the colors and "shapes" of things on an ocean's horizon are really all the detail you need to describe an encounter. That's the plot - there isn't one, it's just a well written description of the location...of an encounter. Well done, I liked it.