A Series of One-Shots

The Nereid (mermaids)

For the "It Happened One Summer" competition on freewritersandreaders.ning.com :) (feel free to check us out! We are a nice writing community that takes no shit and allows you to write anything o_o I'm serious. Anything. Dedicated to OTB for being the wonderful founder of the site <3)

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The Nereid

How long do you think it takes for your life to go to hell? An hour? A few days? A week? A month? For me, it took about ten minutes. It started at the beach just after summer break started.

It was another bright, sunny day in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Myrtle Beach was my ultimate favorite tourist destination. There was something about the scorching heat, the hot sand on your sensitive feet, or maybe the rush of the waves followed by the delighted screams of children. People were scattered all across the sand dunes, laying on blankets, towels, or sheets. There were colorful umbrellas dotting the area and even more colorful chairs. The deep blue-green of the ocean made my stomach churn—in a good way.

Up on the pier, men and women were casting down long lines attached to fishing poles. Some were reeling in sharks, string rays; I even say a jelly fish hooked on to one of the lines.

At this point, it was nearly eight thirty in the evening. The last of the people were packing up, getting ready to leave the beach because the tide was coming in and the sun was sinking below the horizon. I was waiting for them all to leave so I could walk along the beach alone to see what shells I could find. Myrtle Beach was a great place to find full shells without many chips or breaks in them and I wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity. Plus, I wanted to see if the moon really did rise out of the horizon… It was supposed to be a full moon and I was hoping it wouldn’t disappoint.

By eight o’clock, most the tourists had cleared out. There were still a few hanging around, some college students about to start a camp fire and I saw a lady walking her dog. Without much more thought, I set my canvas bag on the sand and grabbed my bucket and flashlight. I tucked my flashlight into my pocket since I didn’t need it quite yet and I set out to collect shells.

Okay, so I was a little strange. There I was, nineteen years old, just finished my freshman year of college, and I was collecting sea shells on the beach. In my defense, I wanted to be a marine biologist. I loved everything about sea life and I intended on making shell decorations for my bathroom so I could bring a little bit of the sea into my home.

I walked slowly along the beach. I was ankle-deep in the water with the waves licking further up my legs. It was so calming. Everything about the ocean was. I loved being near it and hearing the soothing sound of the whooshing waves. The gritty sand massaged the bottoms of my feet with every stroke of the pulling and pushing waves. I felt the broken shells pass over the top of my feet with their sweet caresses. When you looked out, the sky was darkening, swallowing the ocean into the horizon.

Sometimes, I pretended that the ocean loved me as much as I loved it.

I bent down to scoop up a handful of shells and wet sand. I sorted through it quickly, picking out what I wanted and letting what I didn’t want falling back into the water. I did this for some time until I realized I was being pulled out to see by the tide. I chuckled to myself and walked back inland.

Approaching the pier, I could hear the waves slamming into the posts that held it up, but I also heard a different splashing sound. Have you ever heard the sound a fish makes as if flops around on land, trying to make its way back into water? Yeah, that was the sound I heard. Something’s tail was slapping furiously against the water, trying to escape something.