lost at sea
a short story about the mermaid Amara
Amara could not recall her death.
The moment the ocean had swallowed her body and soul, her mind began to pulse only with the pull of the tides. Water seared her throat, and her lungs ached with an unquenchable thirst. She had fought to stay afloat, arms slicing through deep currents until something within her awakened, and she felt the sea infuse her very being, imbuing her with its unbridled might. Below her navel, opalescent scales began to flourish along her body, glistening beneath rays of light that danced through the sea’s undulating surface. Inexplicably, Amara now found that a simple flick of her wrist could rogue waves and capsize ships—an easy meal for her newfound sisters, whose mouths would dry for screaming sailors.
But Amara had more refined tastes.
She preferred to pick her teeth with the bones of kings.
In the tempestuous North Sea, gale clouds swept the skyline, muting ocean blues into an exhilarating gray. She lived for storms that crashed along regal shores. Her sister, Nerine, pirouetted at her side, a masterful underwater ballerina. For a moment, Amara could recall the distant aches and pains of pointe shoes, the thrill of feet twirling on a stage—
But just like that, the memory was gone. She had no feet. Only a large fluke, which she used to propel herself deeper into the ocean. Above them, frothy bubbles disturbed the surface, and at last, the moment of anticipation had finally arrived: a royal ship.
The scent of sovereignty waded through the waters, excitement prickling Amara’s fingers as her sisters followed in her wake. They circled the keel, Amara’s mind drifting back to when she twirled on her toes. The memory was hazy, like a dream half-remembered, but she could still feel the satin, smooth against her skin.
Until, hunger banished her memories.
Amara could already taste the sweet, metallic tang of blood on her tongue, her sisters’ laughter tickling her ears. At her side, Nerine’s movements became more erratic, eyes glazing over as if she too had become lost in a distant memory she could not quite grasp. Amara knew better than to ask. The ocean was their home now, and the hunt was all that truly mattered.
Amara thrust her hands downward, through the heavy water. With a sudden lurching of the sea, the ship capsized, its hull breaking apart beneath the weight of the ocean’s massive claws. Her powers were unique among her sisters. While they could all bend the sea to their will, it was Amara who could command it like a weapon—a power that set her apart, even among the deadly mermaids of the North Sea.
Ah, there’s nothing quite like the sound of a monarch’s screams, she thought, rushing to meet his sinking form. As Amara and her sisters filled their bellies, a lone crown fell slowly to the ocean floor, descending to the depths of a similarly ill-fated graveyard, and Amara smiled.
There was more to her affluent appetite than just an affinity for blood. Something deep within her stirred at the sight of a crown, an obscure desire for revenge that she couldn’t quite name.
The ocean was a source of life and death, and for Amara, it was also a place of secrets: sunken treasure, buried in its depths. Sometimes, when she was alone in placid, black waters, she could feel the twinge of something—a sense of loss or longing that eluded her. Something she had forgotten. But the moment would pass, and she would once again be consumed by the wild, untamed beauty of the sea. And so Amara, forever bound to the ocean, continued to hunt, to kill, to revel in the untold power of the sea. For she was not just a mermaid, but something more. Something darker, more dangerous. Something that could only be born in the depths of the North Sea.
But Amara had more refined tastes.
She preferred to pick her teeth with the bones of kings.
Literal chills!
love this SO MUCH!!