Sequel to Death of a Mermaid

July 2, 2013

Writing Club

Prompt: Write a sequel to one of the short stories that you wrote in a previous meeting.

Time Frame: 15 minutes

He returned to the sea to gaze into its grey depths often, sailing along the cragged coast, then back to the harbor alone. Sometimes, he watched the water half expecting to see her auburn head rise above the churn once more. She was truly gone and only he knew where.  Her body had never returned to the sand. His mermaid still swam in the depths amid the haunt of fish.

There had been many questions, mainly out of curiosity. The rumors had filled in the rest. Those who goaded her made her a legend of wild fancies, ignorant of the blood that remained upon their heavily wringed hands.  She had gone back to Wisconsin to her mother, to the little town of her birth, a girl of the plains just couldn’t make it here in Maine, as a fisherman’s wife.  Some said she had found another, a millionaire and ran away with him to New York.  Wasn’t she just in Florida with Thomas Martin’s cousin?  She took a job down there. 

            He let the tales fly.  It was better that way.  Her clothes he had burned in the fireplace, all except that sweater they bought down at the seaside the day the pier was just a bit too cold.  He couldn’t do it.  He had burned his hand rescuing it from the ashes.  It was neatly tucked away in the wooden chest by the bed.  On days when the sky took on that same somber gray, he would pull out her tea set and set out a second cup of earl grey.  She had appeared like a shadow in his mind’s eye, dancing across her now wild garden.  A flash of auburn curls, weightless in the white dress he had sent her off in, free of the fetters of despair that had held her down in this life. 

Now and then she stood behind him and whispered softly in his ear. He was sure of it, but he would turn his head and find her gone.  It was madness he thought.  He was slowly slipping away just as she had, slowly being consumed, but he couldn’t shake off her specter.  If he really was honest with himself, he didn’t want to let go. 

I chose to continue Death of a Mermaid because at that point it was one of my favorite spontaneous stories, kind of a dark one, but not without a point.  Turning a blind eye may not have such devastating results as suicide, but how often do people let someone go when things get messy or they’re struggling to hold on, when they need someone to stand by them?  It’s easy to be too busy with life, too burdened in our own troubles to not step in and extend a hand when it would have made all the difference.