Little Mermaid; my version
Her world is deep murky green, that looks emerald from above. Light glimmers in fragments across her watery sky, for she can never tell where it comes from; but it is beautiful. She wanders the deep, her fingers tangling with the slick weed of undersea grass, her gentle fin fanning the dirt, swirling it about her. Her eyes are ebony and pale green, for she does not need daylight to see. Her voice sounds as a siren on a city street, and to her sisters and the fishes can she only speak.
She glides until she reaches the soft stone tower that her and her sisters are sanctioned, and flows into the porous rock, to her locker. Private, her own. She feels in the dark for the glistening porcelain she found on the oceanic floor, amid wood and bones and shining metal. She licks it, rubs it along her face, tries to make sense of this piece of grace. But cannot. She cannot fathom what land dwellers might use this fragment of stone for, so bright, so soft. What is land? What is air? What is human?
Her sisters have told her of this unholy place, but she creeps towards the surface, and tries to be one with it, everyday. And if not, she dreams about it every moment. She flies from her villa, and shoots up towards the surface, hungry for answers, hoping her sisters will not see. With the surface just inches from her face, she watches the blue expanse, she wishes to jump, she wishes to try and see what this taboo world holds for her.
The biggest of all sins, to be seen from the water.
She presses her petite hands to her slender neck, covering her shining gills and waits a moment. She squeezes her eyes shut, using delicate eyelids which have not blinked for aeons, and thrusts her head above the water. The air feels hot against her virgin skin, she falls back, afraid, devious. Then she rises again, the air no longer feels abrupt, but gentle, and fragile. So transparent compared to her thick and murky world. She rises again, this time releasing her eyes, to catch a glimmer of her scales, glittering colours you know as green and gold. To her, they look like perfection, like stars, if she knew what stars where. Like happiness.
She falls back under the water to catch her breath, had it been so long above the swell? She grows embarrassed by her profusion, and vows, as she does before her sleep every night; that she will never try to venture above to such a space, ever again.