Mermaids sleep in seaweed tangles. With eyes wide open, staring up through green glass water.
I know because my brain told me.
I have been trying to write a mermaid story all week now, to make myself feel better. But I can't get past the murky darkness, and their fingernails.
Fish bone thin transparencies, sharp enough to draw blood.
I keep getting distracted, breaking concentration. Staring at the rust stained tips.
Forgetting that mermaids need to breathe, forgetting the little gills, tucked behind ears, out of sight.
And then there is nothing to do but watch, and stay out of reach.
Watch as they thrash, and flail, and claw about. As fish-woman souls pour out from gasping lips.
My mermaids keep drowning.
I might have to stop the story for a while. I'm obviously not ready for it.
And I don't think I can handle the guilt.
I'm in such a morbid mood tonight. I think I spent too long staring into the meat chiller.
Supermarkets are not good for me.I might sit out in the rain for a bit, and keep the clouds company.