The Multicoloured Mermaid

An Angela Carter inspired short story.

There was a girl who thought she was a mermaid. Her fins were silver, and her tiara gold. The tail in which stirred the waves was a canvas of all colours imaginable. When she swam, she imagined she flew. This girl will not be named, for in naming her diminishes her. In this instance, she is only a story, a fantasy, a ghostly beauty with no name. But ghost she was not. This girl was strong and confident in her vocations, and when she spoke, butterflies were formed in the air.

With the waves and the heavy sense of power in her she chased the current of the dark blue sea, wanting to learn its secrets, to whisper in its ear all of hers. The water was her servant, it carried her, dragged her, hurled her. A bubble of watery laughter would often sprout from the girls mouth as she imagined the multicoloured tail below her. The sea life was her surrogate family, and the wind in her hair her loving friend. She was one with the elements. Even her eyes were pure blue, the colour of the water and the sky. She hoped, one day, she would look upon another and see in their eyes fire and earth, a reflection to the sea that ran through her veins.

But when the girl reached an age where the hidden secrets of the world began to unfold before her and her eyes were opened to the revelations of the times, she stuttered, halted, and died. The water was no longer her servant, but an enemy. A one time friend turned its back and closed its ears to the sorrows of her shouts. She looked and searched, but all she saw were human legs, knees and feet. Not enough. She was growing up. But growing up she did not desire. At this tender age where demons lurk to chide the young minds, she was utterly alone. There were no mermaids in the world, no faeries, nor even any magic man of joy at Christmas time. The world was devoid of magic, and in its place there lied only evil, greed, and bitter destruction. The ground beneath her shook and crumbled, and the girl clinged onto those who loved her to keep her firmly on the ground. But they did not know the ground was unknown to her, for water was where she lingered.

But she adapted. She no longer ventured towards the great pool of the world again. She learnt to swim with feet. And when she had done that, she learnt to walk. And then she learnt to run.Over time, she even learnt to dance.

When she was older, and over the hump that all people must face, when the realisation that the world is imperfect was tattooed onto her weary heart, she coped. She flourished. The great beauty grudgingly turned a blind eye to the fancies and make believe stories of the world.

But she was a fairytale brought to life.

There came a time when she was established, with children of her own. And indeed she had found a man who loved the hidden secrets behind her eyes. But in seeing the things she had seen, and the revelations she had been taught, she desired her children to make a world of their own. A polestirine dream world in which they could thrive. And so she encouraged their fancies. 

When she learnt to smile at human realities, laugh at mundane things, rejoice in a land devoid of magic, she slowly, ever so slowly, began to feel her crown again. 

One day, when the rain pelted down forcefully into her beautiful, insightful eyes, she smiled. And laughed. And when she ran side by side with the water, she realised that, even though the world was so very terrifying, it was also much more beautiful because of it. And although imperfections may seem like destruction, the perfections of herself diminished and thwarted them all, and she realised she was in fact a fairytale.

In truth, she was irrevocably, indefinitely, unfalteringly, a multicoloured mermaid whose rainbows stretch to every corner of the world.