One thing that bothered me in the Little Mermaid Movie was that I always felt like that Ariel could have tried to communicate with the prince more in telling him her situation? Or to go in depth on why she couldn't. Why doesn't she write it down? If she can't why not? Do mermaids not write, or do they have an entire different language? Does she try to do charades until he figures it out? Or maybe it's in the contract that he's not allowed to know about anything?

Speaking of language, do mermaids speak English or have another language. And if they have another language how does Ariel know English, or does she not know English and kind of just wanders about taking her best guess at what people are saying? And maybe she learned English after watching the sailors all the time and she just doesnt know how to write it so she has no way to communicate?

I usually just ignore all of this for the sake of the movie to enjoy it but I'd really love to see the language barrier (or lack there of) addressed in your rewrite!

And I'm sorry this is more of a ramble than structured questions, and it's also been a while since I've seen the movie but I hope this helps or gives you some ideas!

I felt the crunch under my boots and a smile drew across my lips. I stared down at the now crushed leaf. The crisp orange filled my heart with a giddy heartbeat. I looked up and was met with the same colors in the tree above me.

It was Autumn

A swift breeze ruffled the tree and I watched as another leaf began to fall. I started chasing it, the need to catch it overwhelming. The only thing running through my mind was the memory of a children's show saying catching a leaf was good luck. And Lord knew I needed some luck right now.

I laughed as I lept up in attempt to catch it. I fumbled at I struggled to get a firm grasp. I regained my balance and felt the leaf in my hand. I posed triumphantly, one hand on my hip the other showcasing the leaf in front of me.

And in that moment it was a nice escape from the rest of life. I was cozy in a sweater, jeans, and boots, a seldom thing in Georgia. The wind blew a calm breeze, and I could feel the sun across my face. The weather was never extreme, instead, it was a comfort as I continued my walk along the street.

I sighed with a sad smile.

For as much as I loved fall, I knew it wouldn't last. Not here any way. There would only be a few weeks between hot summer days and the cold winter shivers. So this time I had was a treasure.

Fall was a state of transition. The weather was changing, the leaves were falling, and the days were becoming shorter. Fall was a state of transformation.

Change is scary, and yet Mother Nature had found a way to make it beautiful. The warm colors contrasting to the cool breezes, the movement in the air, a dance with the leaves and the birds. The changing brought comfort and the sense of warmth. It was a marvel, it is a marvel.

I will miss it when it's gone. But instead of dreading it's leaving, I enjoy it while it's here, because it's impossible not to.

Poetry might not be for you

If you see the stanzas and roll your eyes

or cringe at the thought of the rhyming ties

But I'll let you in on a secret

Only poets tend to know:

Poetry isn't for you

Poets don't write to please you

Poets don't write for the appreciation of another

Poets write for the expression

They write to celebrate their dreams

They write to keep nightmares at bay

They write for the beauty they see in life

They write for the injustices they can't stand

They write for the blessings they get to expeirence

They write for the memories that tear them apart

The secret is

You don't have to like poetry

It's not for you

Poets don't write for the readers

Poets write for themselves

“Never make a deal with the Devil-”

     My father’s warning echoed through my ears. A distant memory. He made the mistake, and he swore to teach me better. He gave me his last wisdom, seconds before death, seconds before the Devil came to claim his end of the deal.

     My mother was in the hospital. Lung disease had tormented her body; we all knew she did not have long left. Presently, she was healthier now than she was in her twenties. My father in return was six feet under. That was a year ago. My mother was healthy but she wasn’t living. Depression filled her soul once she realized what my father had done. My siblings were not any better. The loss of our dad left us all numb. My brother was forced to grow up without father. My sisters would never be given away at their weddings.

     It had been a year, but it still felt fresh. An open wound that refused to heal.

     I mulled over his words once more. I closed my eyes and considered them.

     I had to do this.

     I grabbed the pistol from the nightstand and loaded it.

     “Devil,” I called out.

     The air grew hot and thick. Sweat beaded down my face, the feeling of flames licking at my heels. The room dimmed, only a red glow saturated the room.  I was taking a gamble, and I was all in.

     “Alex,” The Devil cooed, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

     “I want to make an offer. Similar to my father’s.” I admitted.

     “A life for a life?” the Devil said with a smug smile.

     “A life for a life,” I established.

“Have the Devil make a deal with you,”

     I smirked as I remembered his dying words.

     I lifted the gun, aiming at his temple, “Your life, for my father’s,”

     “Do you think that can harm me?” The Devil laughed.

     The faith in my plan wavered at his confidence, but I kept the act up.

     “I know it can,” I asserted as I cocked the revolver.

     I watched the slight shift in his face. His composure fell for fractions of a second.

     “You came here. You’re on mortal ground now. When my father made a deal with you, each of you pricked the others finger to sign the contract. So what makes you think I can’t draw your blood now?” I retorted.

     “You know nothing of these things,” The Devil spoke.

     I shifted my aim to the right and fired. He watched the bullet rush past his head. The slug buried itself in the wall, and when the Devil turned back the gun was trained on his head once again.

     “Would you like to test your theory?” I prompted, “Because I’m willing to fire, and I have nothing to lose,”

     We held eye contact. I pulled back the hammer of the gun once again, narrowing my eyes.  I held his gaze, unable to read his expression. I tightened my grip on the pistol and began to apply pressure to the trigger.

     He glanced at the pistol and inhaled sharply, “Wait-“

     “Wait,” He conceded, “Fine, I shall bring your father back-,”

     “Alive and well,” I added.

     The devil let out a short burst of air, “Alive and well,” He repeated.

     “Deal?” I proposed.

     “Deal,” The Devil sneered.

     Seconds passed and I waited for his end to be fulfilled. Suddenly I heard a muffled commotion downstairs. I smiled.

     “I’ll be seeing you again,” He seethed.

     “This gunslinger will be waiting for you,”

     I fought to conceal the smile forming on my lips. I brought my glass up to hide the growing grin. I would not give him the satisfaction of my laughter after that godawful pun.

     “I saw it, I saw that smile!” They exclaimed, their grin that of pure joy and I couldn’t help but smile back.

     I shook my head and lowered my glass, “Don’t patronize me,” I replied, with no real meaning in the words. Our laughter died down and it grew quiet. In the silence I found the courage to start the conversation I knew we need to have.

     “Okay, I have to admit, I didn’t believe the whole God thing on our first date,” I confessed.

     “Yeah, when I look back, I probably shouldn’t have teleported us to see the northern lights out of the blue like I did,”

     “A warning would have been nice,” I said shifting in my chair, “And you’re probably expecting it, but I have a few questions,” I was raised Catholic, but I was never devout, never having the faith others did. God had approached me in mortal form to ask for the first date and when it slipped out that they were God, I didn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe. I almost refused the requested second date. I didn’t want to associate with a deity I held no faith in. And despite God proving their status, I still did not have any religious faith for them and I did not want to face him when I held such a secret. Yet here I was, hoping maybe something would change. Hoping they would give me an answer that would change the disbelief I still held.

     They sat straighter giving me their full attention, “Ask away-”

     “How old are you?” I asked suddenly.

     Their eyebrows lifted in surprise, “Oh wow, umm, only about four thousand years? Have to say no one’s asked me that in a while.”

     My mouth went dry; I was shocked. Not by how old, but because of how young, “I-” I cleared my throat and started again. “I thought it would be in the billions at least, was actually expecting the ‘beginning of time’ line.” I admitted.

     “Well,” They replied hesitantly, “I actually wasn’t the first god, and I won’t be the last,”

I stared at God, evaluating their words. Was ‘God’ just a job title? Did they cycle through? Did Gods retire? Did they die? God claimed to be four thousand years old, and that they weren’t the only god. From what I remembered from the Bible, neither of those statements was supposed to be true. God watched as I chewed on my bottom lip, my brows burrowed in confusion. I opened my mouth to voice my confusion when another thought shot into my mind.

     “Did you mean you were not the only Christian God, or you were not the only god,” I spoke carefully.

     “I am not the only god,” They started in a cautious voice, “Judaism started about four thousand years ago, that is when I began, and when the religion began to form. Most religions formed because there was a god, or gods, that inspired faith among the people. I was lucky enough to be able to do such a thing. I have powers and knowledge and so do others, I am not the only God,” they began to spout. “I am not the only God that deserves worshipers. There are people who do not believe in any God, and they deserve no less respect than those who do. Not everything in the bible happened; some things got blown out of proportion, some of it the people just wanted to believe, so they did.” The words came out raw and unprepared. They’re respect and views were genuine. They glanced to the side, their body tense and eyes filled with uncertainty. They rubbed the back of their neck and kept their gaze away from the table. The table was quiet as we sought for words to say.

     “So, tell me,” I started, “are there god’s night?”

Their eyes snapped to mine, “What?” They asked, somewhat hesitant.

     “You know, like girl’s night but with all the gods! You guys have to have gotten together and hung out!” I determined, “You better not tell me that in your four thousand years of life, you and the other deities haven’t gone out and had fun at least once.”

They quickly regained composure, trying to laugh off their shock “I can’t reveal all my secrets in one night,”

     “On the first date we got philosophical about the meaning of life, the second date I learn there are other gods, but I have to wait till the third date to learn whether or not you’ve hung out with Zeus? You’re trying to keep this mysterious god persona, but I already know you’re a goof who tells puns,” I said blatantly.

     They shook their head in disbelief, a small smile on their lips “Well, since my covers blown,” They said with a shrug, “Why did a hawk land on a church’s steeple?” I glared at them a smile tugging at my lips.

     They leaned across the table, already looking delighted “Because it was a bird of pray,”

     “Oh my God,” I moaned leaning back in my chair.

     My eyes widened. I tensed up and dared to look at them to see if they had realized. They were already looking at me with a smug smile.

     “I think that counts as a pun,” They claimed.

     “I’m done, I’m leaving,” I said halfheartedly, “you’re rubbing off on me and I won’t stand for it,”

     “Then how are you going to leave if you don’t stand?”

     I couldn’t help it, I laughed. It was all absurd. I was on a second date with God. A god who ate dinner and told puns and corny jokes. A god that was nothing like I expected at all. They were normal. So much so, I could forget I was even speaking to a god. I heard their laughter with mine and despite it all my grin grew wider.

      After a long while our laughter died down. “Why are we doing this,” I asked the one questioned that had been on my mind since staring at the brilliant streaks of Aurora Borealis, “Why are you doing this?”

     The god sobered as they looked at me with a tender gaze, “Because you make me feel more human than I have in a very long time,”

I barely have a sense of smell. I don’t notice a fart. I don’t notice the aroma of dinner dancing through the kitchen. I can barely smell a candle under my nose. When I do catch a scent, when I notice a smell, it makes it exceptional. The sudden juxtaposition startles me, from having nearly no smell, to having a powerful sensation. A bad smell can have me running for the hills, but a good smell? I cherish the source, yearning to have it, whatever it is. I want to keep it close, to possess what is forbidden to me.