everythingandanythingexceptmaths

[everythingandanythingexceptmaths]

What if people who die at sea become mermaids?

The sea could tell many stories, if man could bring himself to understand the whisper of the incoming tide, and the crashing of the waters against inexorable cliffs. How many living, breathing souls have succumbed to the whirls and depths of the ocean? Their only legacy are the waves, tumbling and rolling and washing ashore like the tears none had time to shed.

Their voices are muted by the stinging fire of saltwater gasped down their throats as they claw for air and life. When they struggle no more, and the waters still, only the last rising bubbles and the hush of the wind remain to wash away their strangled cries.

And so, voiceless, tearless, hopeless, their eyes close and they accept their watery grave.

They say the last thing you see when you die is imprinted on the back of your eye. Only a few pale fingers of wavering light remain in theirs, the sea claiming their sight along with their body.

They sink, down and down, weightless and lifeless and – oh, my darling, so painless.

Their lungs crave the drug of oxygen no more, their limbs no longer thrash and tremble with the urgency of life. Their faces, at last, look peaceful in rest. What little light struggles through, blue and balmy, the most faithful of death masks, cradles and caresses their weary bodies like a mother welcoming her child into the world. Who was it that said the sea was like a womb? I shall.

And like a babe as yet uncut, they are held close by the sea, their heartbeat stolen and rebirthed in the endless thrum of the waves and the swishing of the currents.

And, like in a womb, birth awaits.

The waters keep their precious burden close and safe, and when it is time, they relinquish it. Life is given where it was first created, when time began. Bodies lengthen, no longer restricted by the pull of gravity. Limbs loosen, stretch and merge, flexing as the dolphin writhes before breaking through the surface. Hands open and close, waving and pushing past their embalming liquid, webbed at the nubs and smooth as fish scales, tipped with nails as sharp as coral. Spines arch and fold, necks roll and find suppleness where there had been none. Slits crack open on their skin, allowing life-giving water to rush in, filling their lungs and cleansing all that is not foam and sea and brine.

At last, their eyes open, and they see. What man had deemed murky, they see to be subtle. What man had declared dark, they realise is infinite. The tiniest life flickers by, and it goes noticed and loved by the newcomers. The currents swirl around them in welcome ad they raise their arms, exalted and free. Memories, what is left of them, fade with every breath, washed away with every intake of this new world. A sailor abandoned by his crew and haunted by a last living thought of his mother. A slave, choosing solace amongst the ripping of shark teeth over the stifling cruelty of the strange world she had left. A maiden, lost at sea in search of her loved one, abused in life and terrified in death. A child, scorned by all and loved only by those long gone. An old man, wearied by the world and crippled by life at sea.

All of them, the ocean welcomes with open seas and a promise of oblivion. And their eyes… not even man could fail to see the treasure in them.

Mermaids? Fishtails?

Oh, my heart – no.

Fluid. Iridescent. Alive.