The Mermaid

by C. Martinez

            Darryl Forrester and his dad found the young woman tangled in seaweed and rope. Slits and scrapes scored her legs, even to the bottoms of her feet. Darryl had never been near so much real live curvaceous nakedness in his fourteen years of life, so he hung back with his erection while Dad wrapped the woman in his own shirt and carried her to the car.

            The news called her the South Montez Mermaid because that was the name of the harbor she washed up at. Since she refused to speak, and was quite pretty, it seemed a better nickname than “mentally challenged homeless girl”. Even a popular talk-show pundit made light of the woman’s situation by holding a mock contest in which the winner would be able to name the Mermaid and take her home with an aquarium and feeding pellets to take care of her.

            Some of the less magnanimous television blowhards fanned public outcry by questioning whether or not the olive skinned beauty spoke English. If she didn’t, then it’s possible she was just another illegal from Mexico trying to nick a free ride. When that happened, the talk-show pundit, who was also an uncle of Darryl’s, quietly gave Dad a lot of money to let her stay with them until they could figure her out.

            The headlines and outcry followed her all the way to Dad’s house. It was really weird the morning Darryl woke up to find some stupid reporter tapping at his window with a fifty dollar bill clenched in his hand. He begged Darryl to let him have an exclusive with The Mermaid. When Dad came home and found out, he dragged the reporter out by his ear, chased out the camera crew, and then took the fifty from Darryl and grounded him.

            Stupid mermaid.

            The woman loved doing laundry and dishes and obviously understood English because she would do any chore of Darryl’s that he asked her to do.  Since she was mute, Dad never found out.

            Darryl could tell Dad really liked her because he always had a funny grin on his face when he looked at her. Whenever he talked to her she would smile back and laugh at all the right times. He named her Ariel, his little gift from the sea.

            All of Darryl’s friends thought Ariel was the hottest, weirdest chick they’d ever seen. Was his Dad doing her yet? Was she gonna be his new step-mom? If she did all his chores, would she also let them have a look at her tits if he asked her?

            It was kind of cool laughing with his friends about that and enjoying a fresh kind of Alpha status. Brian Fallow screwed that all up though, because he barged everyone into the house and demanded that Darryl tell her to show them her tits.

            Ariel’s dark eyes were almost black, and lines creased her forehead as she looked at Darryl and shook her head. Darryl swallowed hard, and remembered that one time Brian had forced him to stomp a squirrel to death and set its body on fire in order to join the stupid group. He’d cried about it when he was alone, and never told Dad. Now, as he stared into Ariel’s enormous eyes, and her trembling lips, and her frail arms that bulged and pulsed at the wrists with blue veins, he realized that his life was going to change one way or the other with his decision.

            “Come on, Ariel…” Darryl said, the words hanging in the air between them.

            Brian shoved Darryl’s shoulder. “She’s your frickin mermaid, man! She has to obey!”

            “……show us!” Darryl gasped and then with a punch to the back from Brian he coughed. “YOUR TITS!”

            Ariel’s cheeks reddened and she pursed her lips until they formed a perfect, plump circle. She obeyed, slowly unfastening the buttons of her blouse until it fell open and halfway down her shoulders.

            “Holy….” Brian muttered with his mouth hanging, and actual drool escaping.

            The other two boys, twin brothers, Dylan and Eli Castillo did not react quite the same way. Dylan scowled and scratched the back of his head, “This sucks man, this sucks,” he said and grabbed Eli by his shirt sleeve. “Friggin sucks.”

            “What are you a pansy?” Brian sneered.

            “Ain’t no friggin rapist man, that’s what I ain’t!” Eli replied. “We’re gone.”

            “What the hell! We’re not raping anyone you jack-offs!” Brian watched them leave, his lips contorted and nose wrinkled.

            Darryl went to Ariel and pulled her blouse back up, fumbling and tugging uselessly with his fingers as he tried to button it. Regardless of his shame, though, he couldn’t help but brush his knuckles against the silky skin of one of her breasts. “I won’t do it again, I promise!” He muttered.

            “What are you doing? I didn’t say to cover her up!” Brian snarled and he shoved Darryl away from Ariel so hard the boy whirled and his head cracked against the edge of the kitchen table and then bounced on the tile floor. A white glare explosion of agony fired through Darryl’s brain and wracked his body with nausea as he lay with his cheek on the cool tiles. In too much shock to feel nothing more than mild worry at the sight of his own blood pooling the tile around his face, Darryl even kind of smiled.

            Fear and concern paled Brian’s face as he stared at Darryl, “Dude! I didn’t mean to…!” he said but then his mouth fixated open permanently as Ariel’s tiny, frail little arm burst through his chest, her hand clutching Brian’s pulsing heart. The boy’s dying body fell heavily to the ground, the last vein to the heart tearing with a weird ripping sound so that it remained in Ariel’s palm.

            Darryl wondered if Dad knew how sharp and pointy Ariel’s little teeth actually were, because he could see those teeth now as she crouched and devoured Brian’s heart.










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Writers Bio

I am a 30 year old American musician and writer with a passion for tea and anything odd wherever it can be found in life. I live in a Colorado suburb. Links to my previously published stories can be found at my blog, or you can feel free to tweet me at:

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