Fish Scales and Mermaid Tails

River

Jo is swimming again. She glides through the water with swift, powerful strokes, her tail a blade of silver slicing through the dark water. She's beautiful when she swims like this. She reaches the end of the enclosure and flips easily, then she's back on her way to the rock, keeping her head under the surface.

She pulls herself onto the rock lazily and doesn't bother brushing away the strands of dark hair clinging to her face. "Water's warm."

"Water's always warm," I say, but she doesn't reply, one arm slung over her eyes like she's shielding herself from the world.

The cavern that we sit together in is claustrophobically small, making my skin itch. None of it is real, anyways. The faux-cavern walls have been painted bluish-black, seeming to absorb all light except for the cone of yellow that shines down onto our central rock. I can't complain about the temperature controls. The water's just warm enough to be comfortable but not stifling. It's the stupid props that I could do without: the big plastic treasure chest overflowing with plastic gold and pearls, the fake seashells, the splintery wood barrel that's slick with algae up the sides. Our own little Mermaid Island.

Sinking my tail into the pleasant embrace of the water, I dig in to the bucket of fish by my side. It's the usual heaping serving of fresh mackerel – not my favorite, but far from the worst thing I've eaten. A few months ago, they tried feeding us this awful, dry stuff that was practically dog kibble, with the worst artificial fish smell you could imagine. Not even close to the real thing. Thank Neptune that didn't last long.

We eat in silence, the two of us, and I listen to the soft lapping of water as she swishes her tail up and down, up and down. Once lunch is over, it's time to put the coverings back on. The coverings are long, wide sheaths of silicone padding, a light flesh tone for me and a tanner one for Jo. They fasten around our waists and our sides like a second skin, indistinguishable from the real thing. I grind my teeth at the wet sucking noise the sheath makes as it clings to my body once again.

Jo hates the covering the most out of all of us. She flat-out refused to wear it for the first few weeks she was here, but they eventually wore her down. They wore all of us down. Wouldn't want to bother the guests with reality, after all. Wouldn't want children to see the slots of our gills, three on each side, pulsating softly even when not in use. The coverings fix that right up, make us look more Disney-esque.

"Do I look presentably mythical, River?" Jo turns to me, striking a ridiculous pose, her chest jutting out and lips pouted. She knows I hate that name.

"Absolutely, Buttercup." See how she likes it. They're our stage names, River and Buttercup, so ridiculous and cutesy they make me want to hurl.

Soon enough the visitors start rolling in. The ride is an automated circuit with these little boats going round and round in about two feet of dark water. The whole thing is in this fake indoor cave with gloomy dim lighting and plastic stalactites jutting down from the ceiling. What's the appeal of that, you might ask?

Jo and I, of course. Get the chance to see a real-life mermaid! Who could pass that up? None of the people that come to this "attraction", apparently.

The first boat that comes by is a chubby-cheeked little kid and his parents. Before we're even fully in view, he's yelling, pointing rabidly at Jo and I. His mother plays along, pantomiming surprise. Good thing her attention is on the kid, because the father is looking at us a bit too intently. Other than the silicone padding, our outfit consists of uncomfortable seashell bras that don't leave much to the imagination.

We're separated from the boat track by about ten feet, which, in my humble opinion, is not nearly enough space. We don't have to pretend that we see the riders, but we do have to put on a show of some sort. Act like our pretty mermaid selves. Jo stretches out as if sunbathing. I pull an oversized comb through my damp hair, slow and steady as to not yank out any strands, and unfurl my tail to its full length. It's silvery-blue and flashes underneath the spotlight.

The riders come and go, a slow trickle of excited faces and chatter. More families. A group of teenage boys who look on appreciatively, if a little wondrously. Two little girls decked out in mermaid costumes who practically scream with joy. Nobody tries to talk to us. No, they only talk about us.

"Look, mommy, it's River," says one of the girls, gesturing towards me. She must have seen my face in one of the pamphlets. I bite back my tongue to keep from yelling. My name is Alex.

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author's note: my first non-fanfiction story on wattpad! feedback would be greatly appreciated :)