Beached

1-Beached

I open our back door and step out onto the porch, squinting at gray rolls of water bubbling and crashing a hundred yards away. The morning sat air prickles my exposed limbs. The smooth wood of my porch is cold against my feet.

I could've sworn I heard something weird from the kitchen.

The watered glittered from the sunlight, making it hard to see the dark spot that's too big to be a seagull.

My heart skips a beat. The silhouette of a head and shoulders floats into view before being pummeled with a wave.

I kick my flip flops off and scramble down the steps. My feet pound dry sand and soon they're slapping against icy shallows. I dive into the water, not allowing myself to cringe as it surrounds me.

He's floating face-down.

I flip him over, hook my arms through his, lean his head on my shoulder, and start peddling backward. He's heavy, and my arms start to burn. After a while, I get closer, and my toes scrape at the sandy bottom.

Something strikes me as odd. Where did he come from? I didn't see a boat. He certainly didn't come from our beach. I hope he's not dead.  

The water gets shallower, and the victim gets heavier. I drop him in the shallows and fall to my knees beside him. 

I do a double take and scrunch my brows. 

On either side of his abdomen are curved gashes. And in place of legs, he has a singular tail wrapped in metallic fish scales, the color of a clean penny. Sticking out of his thigh is a thin fishing harpoon. 

He stirs. I stare. My brain is filled with static.

He digs his webbed fingers into the sand and props himself up on his elbows. He lifts his head. His dark, copper hair is matted with sand. His eyelids flutter, and he turns unnaturally teal eyes toward me. He straightens and jerks back, but stops abruptly, cringing, his hand flying to the wound in his...side.

"It's okay," I rush, leaning forward. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He bares knife like teeth and hisses. I scuttle backward.

He tries to scoot himself away from me using his hands but stops and clutches his wound. Red is leaking into the sand.

It's my fault that he's trapped on land. It's obvious now that he wasn't drowning. I inch a little closer to him, still kneeling in the grainy sand.

"Uhh, hi," I start. He pins his unnaturally bright eyes on me. His lip curls up. "I don't wana hurt you," I say in a calm, level voice. "I...I can help you." His expression remains the same. "My name's Julie. What's yours?"

He continues looking at me blankly. Clearly, he doesn't understand a word I'm saying. I continue to speak anyway. Maybe he'll derive my intentions from the tone of my voice. It works with animals, right?

"How'd you get here? What happened to your...uh...tail?" I indicate to the harpoon.

He watches me for a few more seconds. I wait, not sure what else to do.

Then he does something unexpected. He reaches forward and rests his wet, sandy palm on my forehead.

I see images of his people through his eyes. He's under the water. The scene has a brief indistinct quality, like viewing a memory.

I hear the frantic voices of the others. Except they aren't voices. They're thoughts: wordless feelings and intentions. This is the language of my- his people.

Apprehensions settles in my chest. The scene shifts and I'm near a mermaid girl that looks around seven or eight years old. Her bright eyes light up at the sight of me, and she points above her. I follow her finger and see a dark silhouette on the surface of the water. I grab little girl's arm and try to lead her away. There's a sense of unease.

Time jumps a little. An enormous grouping of fish is rushing toward us at full speed. I remember wondering what made them behave this way. They swish past us in a blur of scales and slapping tail fins. My hands rush to my face to protect my eyes. A net starts pushing me forward and into all of their wiggling bodies. It pulls me upward.

Weight crushes down on me as the net is hoisted from the water. I gasp. Water rushes downward, intensifying the fish's flailing and depriving me of breath. Air pierces my lungs like cold knives.

I hear voices. Not the voices of my people, but the strange, guttural voices of humans. I haven't the slightest clue what they're talking about. I also hear the little girl above me, bringing me back to reality. She's calling for me.

The net is dumped on the deck of the boat, its contents bursting free like a popped water balloon.

The humans shout exclamations to each other, pointing at me and the girl. They stare at us with their ugly faces, clearly excited about something. I hiss and bare my teeth at them, warning them to come no closer. They continue to stare, unsure of what to do. I pull myself near the girl, glaring at the terrifying beasts. One of the two men holds a thin pole and speaks with a jeering tone. He pokes me with it. I swat it away and bare my teeth, all the while, inching backward, toward the rail of the boat. My eyes dart between the men and the girl.

The other person seems to disapprove of the man's actions, but the man with the pole laughs incredulously. He aims it at me again. Fear tightens my throat. I grab his pole and yank it toward me. The man is pulled forward, falling into the pile of fish. The other laughs.

Time seems accelerated. I'm being flung over the side with a harpoon and the knowledge that the girl is with them.

He removes his palm from my forehead.

"Oh my God," I breathe. I look at the boy sitting next to me in disbelief. I got my answers.