by J E Feldman
For days, Rowen and Attina had worked beside one another to build a small vessel from branches and driftwood using the vines and any supplies Attina was able to scrounge from nearby wrecks. Finally, the small ship was ready, and Rowen stood staring up at it as the sun began to rise. Though he was anxious to return to the sea and back to his actual home, a small sadness lay heavy on him as he realized today would be his last with the little mermaid he had grown fond of.
She was quick to laugh and give her aid where it was needed. Rowen counted her a friend. She had been there when the grief had overtaken him for the loss of his men and again when a deep-seated anger at the sea and the merpeople below it had sent him into a rage.
She had persevered his needling and his grumpy moods with her own fiery attitude. Rowen sighed and was thrown from his thoughts as she materialized beside him. He hadn’t even heard the popping of her joints as her fin separated and legs had grown. He smiled down at her and noticed her own teary eyes.
“Wha' ails ye, Attina?”
The mermaid gave a watery smile and touched his cheek. “You’re leaving me today. I could follow you, but your ship would quickly outpace me.”
Rowen stared at the vessel and then her as his heart tightened at the aquamarine eyes. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.
“Well, wee mermaid, ye can become human. I would loot ye wit' me, but th' riddle be sweet one. Would ye give up yer fin fer a pirate that doesn't deserve it?”
Rowen kicked at the sand, but he was knocked backward onto the ground as she flung herself at him and squeezed tight.
“Look at that, I tamed a siren.”
Attina growled and poked him in the chest. “I am not a siren! Let’s go.”
As they pushed to the vessel Rowen gave one last look to the beach he had spent so much time on. With a mermaid on his arm, he smiled and turned the ship toward home.
Aditya Deshmukh
Biography
Aditya Deshmukh is a mechanical engineering student who likes exploring the mechanics of writing as much as he likes tinkering with machines. He writes dark fiction and poetry. He is published in over three dozen anthologies, and has a poetry book “Opium Hearts” coming out soon. He likes chatting with others who share similar interests, so feel free to check him out on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/adityadeshmukhwrites/
Seamouth
Aditya Deshmukh
Olivia’s dark-green eyes remained fixed on the glass wall-clock. It gleamed silver with moonlight streaming through a nearby window. It was quarter to 2AM and she couldn’t sleep. The silence of the night filled her with a strange dread. The moon’s stillness evoked in her a restlessness, a hunger, a passion. She turned on her side and buried her head in bed.
She soon gave up.
Olivia lifted her husband’s hand off of her before she slipped out of the sheets and tiptoed to the door. After exiting, she lightly closed it and went to the kitchen to grab a whiskey before walking to the basement. She turned on the lights from a switchboard near the dark basement door and descended down the creaky stairs, praying the sound reverberating in the air wouldn’t reach Dan.
The basement stored dozens of things from so many ages. Her eyes fell on one of her strangest wedding gifts: a bronze sculpture of a gigantic nest containing three red eggs. Her grandmother had shipped it all the way from America, insisting she install the piece of art in the very center of her art gallery.
“Then just see how the place will fill with people. The eggs have power! They’ll help you create masterpieces,” she had said.
Olivia had gladly accepted the gift, but her career never reached the point where she could open and maintain an art gallery. It was too expensive. Many years ago, she used to have a private gallery at home. But after the disastrous event that broke her first marriage, the word ‘gallery’ would forever carry an evil shadow in her mind.
Dan and Olivia both worked, but they mostly lived on his salary. Olivia did assist on bringing in some money through her passion for arts. However, being a struggling artist, she couldn’t promise a steady income. It was low and infrequent. And soon, null.
Slowly after marriage, she simply lost the passion. She would still sketch sometimes, but not in hopes of furthering her career. She used it to relieve herself of complex emotions. The elusive flame of dreams inside her heart had gone cold because of reasons she couldn’t fully comprehend. Maybe it was because of the increased responsibilities and stress of marriage. Maybe it was because she could no longer see Roger. But the spark had faded before it ever got a chance to turn into a storm, and Olivia, knowing this, had put all her painting stuff in a bag and dumped it down here.
Today was the day to finally bring it out of the shadows.
After taking a healthy dose of alcohol, Olivia went further inside. She passed Dan’s old golf set, a wooden cabinet in perfect condition, an ancient mirror from the age when Greek gods walked the Earth, and other numerous things. Hiding behind a stack of old furniture was the abandoned bag looking swollen and angry in the dusty corner. As she dragged it out, a puff of dust blasted in her face and sent her into a fit of coughs. Covering her mouth, she opened the bag and poured its contents onto the floor. She rearranged a few boxes on the floor to clear the area. She then sat there cross-legged, and, one-by-one, examined every materialistic element that used to help her bring out her demons hidden in the deep realms of spirituality.
She felt every size of paintbrush, every vial of paint, her palette, the canvas, her drawing book. Every touch opened a new door in her mind from which would come pouring out countless pleasant memories.
With the bottle right in front of her, she couldn’t help but indulge and things turned magical. A mere glance at her drawing book reminded Olivia the story behind every masterpiece. She flipped the pages, enjoying the walk down memory lane.
She was about to leave when a breeze came from the bronze statute and fluttered the loose pages of her book. While collecting them, Olivia wondered about the cause of the wind. She was in a closed basement and something of that strength to originate down here was highly unlikely.
Shrugging, she got up to get the last painting featuring a big blob of black ink with some limited highlighting. Every painting had a story behind it, but no matter how hard she tried, she failed to recollect the blob’s story.
As soon as she touched the rough surface of the yellowed paper, it slipped out of her hand as another playful wind caught hold of it. She ran after it as it shot up in the air and changed directions a couple of times before falling onto the largest egg of the bronze sculpture.
“Damn it, where is the wind coming from?” Olivia complained as she went to the sculpture.
She finally caught the elusive painting and shoved it in her drawing book, which she put back in the bag. She didn’t keep it in the dusty corner because she knew she wanted to paint tomorrow. She smiled, staring at the corner of the canvas that jutted out of the bag and began toward the stairs.
Olivia paused dead in her path when a creak creak creak reached her ears. No, it wasn’t the sound the ancient stairs made. It was louder, more brittle, and it came from a different direction. Olivia followed its voice and stopped before the bronze statute.
The largest bronze egg of the Sea Goddess was hatching.
Olivia stared at the paints. She dipped her brush in the vial of black paint and brought it toward the canvas. The telephone rang, distracting her from the blob she was about to paint. Sighing, she dropped the brush in the palette and sprinted to the living room to answer the call.
“Roger?” She knitted her brow. She hesitated, but the ringing of the phone poked at her heart. “Okay, it’s just a call.” She calmed her breath and picked up the receiver.
“Thank God you answered. For a moment I thought you’d never--”
“I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m just happy to hear your voice after so many months. Listen, are you free next week?”
“No.”
&
nbsp; “There’s something very important I need to tell you. It’s urgent. And I was thinking if we could...you know...it’s been a while and I--”
Olivia gave a long breath. “Look, Roger, I’ll be very clear. What we had was special. And I really did like you. But we weren’t right for each other. You are a practical guy and this insane art world is what I live in. Put pineapple in pizza and it simply doesn’t work.”
“Please, we have to meet--”
“Okay, I was trying to be nice. But after what you did that night, how dare you call me?”
Roger sighed. “It wasn’t me.”
“Oh, it was you. You might be drunk, but it most certainly was you.” Olivia’s grip on the phone tightened as she fought back her angry tears.
“Why can’t you trust me?”
Olivia almost laughed at the stupid question.
“Look, I know I’ve let you down because of my drinking problems countless times. And I don’t get the point of art, but I’m not a monster, Olivia. I’d have never done--”
“I cannot live with a drunkard anymore. I’ve moved on and you should too.”
“Please, I’m a changed man. I’ve been sober the last six months. I go to gym, do yoga, follow a healthy diet. Hell, I even meditate sometimes. I promise you, I’ll respect you and your dreams. Nothing bad will happen again.” Desperation coloured Roger’s voice. “Please, can we give this...can we give this one more try?”
A tear filled Olivia’s eye. Yes, he’d done a terrible mistake, but he had been drunk. Yes, they were like pineapple pizza, but Olivia had eventually developed a taste for it. A flavour that was now missing from her life, turning her very existence bland.
“I’m married.”
“I know. Still...”
“We had our chance, Roger.”
“We grew up together, Olivia. There’s no one in this world that knows you better than me. Please, you know we’re meant to be together.”
Olivia sniffled. “Goodbye, Roger.”
“No, wait. This wasn’t why I called you. I need to tell you something, Olivia. I was hoping we could meet, because this is bizarro stuff. But if you don’t want to see me, I guess we can do this on phone.” Roger paused. “Remember back when we were kids, we’d seen that thing in the sea...”
Olivia had stopped listening. She couldn’t let her heart dangle between two men. It simply wasn’t possible.
She hung up and went to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of juice, put some ice, and gulped half of it in one go. She returned to the basement. Sipping the remaining juice, she glanced at the sculpture as she passed by it. She loomed over the largest egg, which she had examined first thing in the morning. It’s red surface remained strong and metallic. Despite the cracking sound last night, there were no inconsistencies anywhere.
“Must’ve been the whiskey,” Olivia assured herself when she could find no explanation about the strange happenings of the night, which concluded with her husband finding her passed out in the basement. And after that had come the disastrous headache, followed by a terrible hangover which had lasted for hours.
No, she wasn’t a teenager anymore. She had to be careful about her drinking problems.
She slid her thumb along the glass and murmured, “Juice, it’s going to be just you and me from now.”
She got back to her painting. In one clean stroke, she made an outline of the blob. She filled it with stark black. Then she dipped another brush in white and smeared it on the palette. She mixed the black to form different shades of grey. With surgical precision, Olivia placed dots of same and varying shades on the canvas. As minutes turned into hours, the two-dimensional blob developed solid attributes. And as Olivia continued working, it seemed as though it were growing a life of its own.
The doorbell rang and Olivia checked her wristwatch. It was 8PM! Shocked about the surprising passage of time, she took a moment to gather herself before sprinting upstairs to welcome Dan.
“Honey, you okay?” Dan remarked, seeing his breathless wife.
“Yeah, why?” Olivia said, wiping the newly formed sweat beads off her forehead.
“You look exhausted.”
“Maybe just lack of sleep,” she shrugged.
“You should get enough rest, honey.”
“I’m an artist, can’t help it. You should probably talk to the coffee maker. It loves feeding me,” Olivia chuckled. She waited for Dan to join in. He was a simple man. He laughed at the simplest humour. But this time he didn’t even smile. “Did something happen at the office?”
Dan nodded. He loosened his tie and crashed on the couch. “It was fine until evening, when my boss shot himself.”
“Oh my God!” Olivia felt her legs go weak. She started shivering. “Suicide? But Scot was doing so well.”
Dan shrugged. “We all have problems. Some hide them better than others.” He scratched his chin. “But yeah, while it wasn’t always visible, we all knew something was off with Scot lately. He was a hoot, cracking the whole place up every morning. We assumed it was just stress. Then he began sweating. The man sweated like a pig, Olivia. It was as if his cabin had a hidden sauna. Everyday Scot would get thinner and thinner, as though he was melting. And now...” Dan wrapped his hands around his head. “I can’t believe it.”
Olivia rubbed her husband’s back before she took him to bed.
Scot’s death didn’t mean more to Olivia than a distant relative’s. The atmosphere at house remained tense for a couple of days, but soon things went back to normal. She retreated to the reclusive life an artist often switched to before surprising the world with a fine piece of art. Olivia knew she was on to something. She knew the world would embrace her masterpiece, the critiques would shower her with praises, and art galleries would beg for her attention.
She was painting the blob and she knew masses would kill for an opportunity to lay their eyes on this masterpiece.
“I told you to stop drinking and now your mind is full of shit. Where’s your humility, Olivia?” she chided herself. “Maybe it’s the sculpture. Are your eggs working their spells, grandma?” she laughed. Then she sipped some more whiskey and enjoyed the tempting glimpses of dreams. “But the world doesn’t work that way,” Olivia sighed. “So many upcoming talented painters go unnoticed.”
Olivia observed her painting and analyzed its every aspect meticulously. She tore down the canvas and tossed it on the floor, which was full of similar discarded paintings. “I won’t be another name on that list. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll paint the blob until I perfect it. I’ll stop only when I create something that looks real.”
Wiping sweat off her brow, she prepared herself for yet another attempt. She’d almost touched her brush when the doorbell rang. Olivia checked her clock to see 6PM. She rose and carefully made her way through the maze of painting materials scattered around her. When the bell rang again, she quickened her pace.
“You’re early.”
“Nope, I’m late,” Dan said digging into his pockets. He produced two tickets. “The movie starts in like twenty minutes. Quick, wear something fancy. Afterwards, we’re going for dinner.”
“Wow, what’s the occasion?”
“Make a guess,” Dan smiled.
Awkward pause. “Oh no, I’m so sorry I forgot about the anniversary--”
Dan burst out laughing. “It’s two months from now, Olivia.”
“Oh.” she said, now blushing. “Well, what is it?”
Dan produced an envelope from his office bag. He bowed as he handed it over to her. She tore it and flipped the letter inside open. “Holy fuck, you got promoted!”
“I still can’t believe it. And guess what? There’s a pay raise.”
“That’s awesome!” Olivia’s face was glowing. Her lips curled into a timeless smile. Marks of aging left her skin and the light of youth shone in her eyes. Youth and dreams and joy. “Your company is appreciating your efforts. My passion for arts has returned. This is like a perfect life, Dan.”
>
“I know!” Dan said, embracing her in a tight hug before planting a deep, long kiss on her cherry lips. “Now quick, woman. We’ve got just fifteen minutes.”
Olivia glanced at the basement door. She could sense the pull of her canvas. The desire to complete the unfinished painting possessed her. She wanted to paint so bad, to create something real out of ordinary paints, something alive that she stepped toward the basement door. A scolding sparked in her mind. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t gone on a date night with her husband in months. And she wanted to sacrifice all that for the blob?
“Hey, anything wrong?”
“No, no, just trying to digest the news. You could’ve at least messaged me about tonight’s plans, Dan. How the hell am I supposed to get ready this soon?”
“Surprise is all the fun, babe. Now, please, get ready. We’re getting late.”
Olivia went to her bedroom. She pulled out a red gown from the closet. After wearing it, she applied bright red lipstick and dabbed her cheeks with some makeup. Keeping an eye on her wristwatch, she debated if she should do her hair. Dan called for her and Olivia made her decision. She let her hair run free.
“Whoa, you look gorgeous!” Dan said, stealing a quick kiss before leading her to the car. Soon, they were at the theater.
Halfway into the movie, Olivia’s fingers started twitching. Her makeup began coming off her face as sweat continued oozing out of every pore on her body. She felt as though she was tied to a rock in the middle of the sea and every wave that hit her was made from her own bodily fluids.
“Okay. You’ve been acting weird since yesterday. What’s the matter?”
People sitting on either side turned their faces from the boring chick flick to Dan and Olivia.
“Don’t talk so loudly. People are getting disturbed,” Olivia whispered.
“Tell me. Something is definitely bothering you? Wait, you’re not ill or something, right?”