From a Mermaid's Diary

Mother suggested drawing to me when I told her that I was losing my words.  I'd try to express a thought or a feeling, and my mouth would open, but nothing would come out.  "Draw it out," she'd said, pushing a battered black pen and pad of unlined paper into my hands.  She'd found me at my hiding spot- a small inlet surrounded by jutting obsidian rock, so I can enjoy the perks of dry land (like pens and paper) without the harsh air drying out my fins.  

I've been doing it so long- communicating through my hands and images- that now words feel foreign and clumsy on my tongue.  Not that I talk to many people anyways.  Our mermaid clan has always been a fairly small one.  I think it's because we're in such a secluded area.  

I think some mermaids want to be found.  Like my cousins.  They tell me how they peek their heads out once it's dark, and try to make eye contact with a human.  Then they'll swim just far enough out to them for them to get a glimpse of our glowing, salt-scrubbed skin and our smooth, watercolor hair.  Then they turn around and swim away.  They think it's great fun.

But where my clan is, humans don't come to the beaches very often.  It's pretty cold most of the time.  I don't know where exactly we are, just that the sky is grey more often than blue, and my cousins hate when their clan has to pass through here.

I don't mind so much, the solitude.  I don't like to tease the humans anyways.  The general mermaid stance on humans depends on who you ask.  The girls love them- they think they're fascinating.  I'm sure they would keep them as pets if they could.  They have grand illusions of a rogue sailor falling in love with them, making them his muse, devoting his life to loving her and bringing her trinkets that she probably has no use for in the ocean.  But still they dream, and I find it all pretty harmless.  The men sense this competition though, and because of it, don't like humans.  It's in our nature that we would never harm a human, but they needn't worry anyways because the men avoid them like they were covered in rust.

I saw 2 little girls just today, as a matter of fact, while I was drawing crystallized bubbles suspended in brackish, brown air.  They must have been sisters because they were wearing similar dresses, only one with pink piping along the ruffles and one with blue.  I maneuvered myself with my elbows to get a better view while still keeping my tail hidden.

They each had a barbie doll, and they were making them talk to each other in funny accents.  I wondered when the last time I played a game like that was.

"Pretend," I whispered to myself, and it sounded just as funny as so many of the other words I'd lost.  I'd ask Reed later if he remembered playing pretend.  He might even play for a bit with me- he indulged me in my childishness every once in a while.  I'd feel silly playing by myself.  What if nothing happened- I couldn't think of anything to say or do?  I'm sure it'd be much easier with two people.  For the first time I wish I could just approach the two little human girls.  Pretend came so naturally to them.