Mer

I hear a man whistle behind me, setting my eye roll into motion. This is not what I had intended to do today. My plans involved sitting on a rock while the waves crashed behind me, inhaling the soft salt air so my voice could fill its space. But still, I would never pass up an opportunity like this.

I turn around, my long hair following behind me as it floats on the white sea foam, and I see the ship. The scene is extremely predictable. A group of men with long, straggly hair and untrimmed beards are dancing around to some song about the sea. It’s ironic; these old folk songs are pretty much always warning them about the dangers in the ocean, yet they choose to ignore these messages.

“Come on, girl! Give us a smile!” one of them says. I wait a second to let their excitement build before showing them my pearly-white teeth and giving them a little wave. This never fails to fill me with satisfaction, as all of the men on board are either missing teeth or missing limbs.

They applaud me and begin to call me closer. I see them clapping each other on the back and making loud, incompetent comments about my physical beauty. While this was exactly the goal, I can’t help but wonder if anything goes through their heads at all. The comments they make are sexual in nature, but even the most surface-level knowledge of marine biology combined with half a second of critical thinking would make them realize how impossible that is.

I start to do long dolphin dives towards them, the moonlight making the water on my skin glisten, while my tail glistens all on its own. As I approach the boat, the calming aroma of salt becomes mildew and rotting wood. They have a topless member of my species carved out of stone perched to the front of their boat, a reminder of why this plan works every time.

They scurry to the edge of the boat, where a fishing net hangs above them to fill me with a quiet rage. I wave at them again, this time to ask them to join me in the water. There is a hesitation, but their ignorant smiles are far more powerful, so I’m not worried about my success.

I begin to sing; the men are helpless. My voice puts them in a trance and the smell of body odor and booze gets closer and closer. They stare longingly at my figure, probably wishing I resembled the carving on the boat just a little more. They are so distracted that they don’t notice my once perfect teeth growing longer and sharper, with my fingernails following their lead. I give them the privilege of hearing my perfect laugh as their last sound of life.