For so many the seas meant a sense of calm, a feeling of tranquility. For her, it only meant a vast emptiness, a torturous pressure.
How else could she feel when the ocean was all water and salt, while she was nothing but fire in her veins and steam in her lungs?
When the other mermaids sang, they conjured pretty colors, pearls and corals. She could not create anything of the sort. All she could sing of, were embers, ash and magma.
All the things that could not live any sort of life so far underneath the surface of the water.
YOU ARE READING
Tiny Stories Part 2
Storie breviMy second collection of microfiction, sometimes dealing with the mundane, but mostly dealing with the magical. Unlike the first collection, the stories in this one are based on inktober prompts.
