Fiction: The Mermaid's Hunt

The superior's voice called out to Moma as she dived into the water and away from the tribe. The language would have sounded like French to untrained ears but no French-speaking person would have understood what the creatures were saying. But, to Moma, it was a familiar sound.

"Come back before daybreak."

Underwater, the mermaids could not speak to one another. Their human mouths didn't have the capacity. Instead, they had formed a language of body and hand gestures to communicate what they wanted to say. But it didn't make much difference at the moment since Moma was alone.

Her slender body cut through the saltwater and her vision scanned the seascape for signs of predators. She saw nothing to fear and continued on but kept her guard up. The sea was a dangerous place, after all. Sharks and stingrays roamed these waters. And even more frightening creatures that the humans knew nothing about.

'They won't even believe in us,' Moma thought. 'The Gribbles would astonish them.'

Suddenly, she felt it. Ripples disturbing the water. She grinned. Her arms and her tailfin propelled her faster towards the source. It was a ship. She knew it. The metal, the oil, and, sometimes, the plastic from humanity's boats gave the seawater a distinctive taste whenever one passed by.

A few minutes later and she spotted it. It was a small boat, a yacht.

'Perfect,' she thought.

She swam to the surface and hid her lower fish body beneath the water's surface.

She cried out one of the few English words she knew. "Help!"

A slender man with a deep tan was lounging on the deck. He turned his head and his mouth fell into an 'O'.

"What in the world are you doing out here?" he called out. But, it was all babble to Moma, who only spoke the language of the mermaids.

"Please help!" She called out once more.

The man looked on in confusion. Suddenly, he snapped out of it and ran towards the side of the boat. A life preserver hung on the side of the boat. He grabbed it and threw it to Moma. His hands tightly held the attached rope.

'Perfect,' Moma thought.

She grabbed the rope and wrenched it to her. When the man fell into the water, she sped toward him and slit his throat with her sharp tailfin.

Moma was back before daybreak with supper for the tribe.