Of Sirens and Beasts (Top 10~OnceUponNow) Being Published October 11th

A Life of Scales and Wings (The Little Mermaid)

A couple years ago, I wrote "A Life of Scales and Wings" for Wattpad's The One That Got Away Anthology that was up on the Paid profile. I want to thank anyone who supported me by purchasing the story to read. I can now post it on my own profile and wanted to give anyone who might have wanted to read it but couldn't the chance to read it! "A Life of Scales and Wings" is a gender-swapped modern-day sequel to The Little Mermaid. I hope you'll enjoy! It's not very long, and I'll be posting it in two parts.

"I know that I shall love the world up there, and all the people who live in it."

~ Hans Christian Andersen, "The Little Mermaid."

I tug Clarissa's wet silicone tail off her. The faux scales in neon green and pink dull in the harsh amber light of the Drop—the name for a room painted dark gray and filled with mermaid tails and drying racks. The Drop gets its name from is the fifteen by seventeen-foot opening in the floor, the top of the tank that Clarissa and the other 'finlancers' swim around in during their shifts at Han's.

Clarissa rubs a fraying towel over her face, not giving a damn that she smears her face paint. What once were red and green scales now streak her face in runny lines. It doesn't matter. She's done for the day.

Merfolk don't have scales on their faces, not that Dad, Clarissa, or any of the other finlancers—freelance mermaids—would take my word for it. "Since when do you care about mermaids?" they'd ask.

The tail off, I hoist it into my arms, gritting my teeth under its weight and carry it over to the drying rack, near where two other tails air out, for Clarissa to clean it later.

The finlancers make their living imitating creatures they've never seen. They could attach a horn to their foreheads, and no one could say they were wrong. It would be a hit. Unicorns and mermaids: the world's two favorite things combined at last.

Clarissa tosses the towel onto the bench beside her. "This college guy couldn't peel his face off the glass, Kingsley," she says, her tone derisive. "Kept tapping the glass too."

We have signs posted warning against such behaviors. Even during spring break, when the colleges release their flocks to fill up Haven Beach, we never have much of an issue despite the number of diners that visit Dad's mer-themed restaurant. Haven Beach is famous for two things: the one mermaid—or merman—that was spotted here a hundred years ago by the then-mayor and Han's, where you can devour a crab cake while watching mermaids swim around a human-sized tank for your enjoyment.

No self-respecting tourist leaves Haven Beach without grabbing a meal at Han's and buying a figurine from our gift shop.

"I have to take over for Tyron in the store." I wipe my hands off on a towel. "If I see him, I'll handle it."

Clarissa waves me off, heading for the detergent on the shelf near her tail.

***

A quick scan of the restaurant turns up no boy who looks anywhere near college age. They're all middle schoolers or younger or in their late twenties and beyond. All diners are where they should be, appropriately oohing and ahhing as Timothy does a tumble roll in the tank, the tank's lights catching his scales.

While I set up shop behind the register in the gift shop that's located at the front of the restaurant, Tyron leaves to clock out.

Mer knick-knacks line the shelves and walls. Magnets with fishy puns clutter the register. A row of marble-colored figures—a mermaid held in the arms of a man, her arms slung around his neck—lines the shelf above my head. A little plaque on each reads