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wildely-earnest · 8 months

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The world of man is evil, Shizue knows. She has always known, deep in her heart, that man is cruel, uncaring, only useful as prey for her and her sisters. And yet, there is something different about this one. He seems the same as the rest, at first, on a ship full of other men who carelessly toss their nets into the water, gathering up fish that are not theirs to take and leaving their litter in the oceans. This particular ship, in fact, is worse than many others that sail through, because one of its nets ensnares her sister Maritza. Maritza shrieks as she is hauled out of the water, and Shizue goes racing towards her, preparing to launch out of the water in an attempt to shred the net that holds her sister captive. However, she finds the action unnecessary; upon hearing the shriek, the man looks over the side of the ship. He catches sight of the struggling mer in the net, and then begins lowering the net back into the water.

“Merrick! What the hell are you doing?”

“We’ve caught a mer, sir,” the man says. “I’m letting her go.”

“Just kill it!” the other voice shouts.

“Respectfully, sir,” Merrick says, “I am not inviting a curse on my bloodline.”

The other voice grumbles about superstitious sailors, but Shizue is too preoccupied with helping her sister free herself from the net. As soon as they are both clear, the net begins to raise again, though it is significantly lighter of fish now. The other voice grumbles, but Merrick ignores it, looking out over the waves. He catches Shizue’s eye and holds her gaze for a moment, and then looks away. Shizue stares after him for a long moment, and then dives.

The ship carrying Merrick comes by again. It crosses into Shizue’s cove about once a week, and she finds herself observing him from afar. She wonders what he is like, outside of his work as a sailor. She wonders if he is a kind man, or if he really is just superstitious.

Then, one day, his ship is out in her cove, and there is a storm, and she has no more need to wonder, because he is in the water, and she is pulling him out, to land, and then he is coughing up seawater and shivering, and she shakes him until he rouses enough to pull himself to the shelter of an inland cave to weather the storm. When the storm passes, she returns to his island and finds him standing in the sand, looking out at the sea with his hands on his hips. He startles and stumbles back when he sees her.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he returns warily. “You look… familiar.”

“I pulled you out of the water,” Shizue says.

“Oh,” Merrick says. “I think I owe you my life, then.”

“You saved my sister’s, so consider us even.”

“Alright, then. My name is Merrick. May I have yours?”

“I know. I am Shizue.”

“You know?”

“I heard another human say your name when you cut my sister loose,” Shizue says. “Did you truly believe we would curse your bloodline, had you killed her?”

“Not really,” Merrick says, “but if I’m not superstitious, I’m in trouble. I do believe you would have found some other way to retaliate, though.”

“Of course,” Shizue says. “We would have sunk your ship.”

“Oh,” Merrick says faintly. “That’s… good to know.” There is a momentary lapse in conversation, and then, “Speaking of sunk ships, do you know what happened to the one I was on?”

“I think it returned to shore,” Shizue says, “but I’m not sure. I was focused on saving you.”

Merrick hums consideringly. “Is there any food on this island? It’ll be a week before they’re back.”

Shizue points inland, where there is fresh water and fruit trees grow. Merrick builds himself a small structure around the mouth of the cave he took shelter from the storm in, to keep it dry and warm. They chat during the days and go their separate ways at night.

A week passes with no sign of Merrick’s ship.

One of Shizue’s questions is answered: Merrick is indeed kind. He offers her fruit, asks about her day, sympathizes with her when she complains about humans stealing their fish, though he does explain that humans eat them, too. She demands that he prove this, and upon being given a fish to eat, he prepares it with a knife that had been strapped to his thigh, cooks it over a fire, and eats it. Shizue watches him in fascination. She asks him why he needs to burn it before eating it, and he explains that raw fish make humans sick. She comments that humans must be quite delicate creatures, and he laughs and says, “Perhaps in comparison to mers.”

Two weeks pass, and no sign of the ship.

It is in the second week of Merrick’s stay on the island that Shizue comes to realize that he is… beautiful. She has never been particularly interested in humans before, and especially not human men, but there is something about the way that he moves, a grace and efficiency that is captivating to watch. She realizes she is going to be sad to see him return to his people. If he returns to his people. She can see the doubt beginning to creep into his eyes.

“You could stay with me,” she says to him at the dawn of the third week. “Here, on this island. I can bring you fish, and you can bring me fruit, and we can be… something new. Something just for us.”

He smiles at her, in the gentle way he always does, but this time it is tinged with regret. “No,” he says simply. “I wish I could want that, but I have never wanted love, and not even being stranded with a beautiful woman has changed that.”

“You’ve… never wanted love?”

“No,” he says.

“Oh,” she says. “But you are so kind.”

He sighs and sits down near the water, resting his chin on his palm. “I don’t have to be in love to love the world. Do you understand?”

“No,” Shizue says.

“Do you love your sisters?”

“Of course!”

“Are you in love with them?”

Shizue makes a face. “No.”

Merrick laughs, though not with malice. “Exactly. I love my friends. I love my family. To some degree, I love half of the strangers I meet on the street. But I’ve never been in love, and I have no desire to be. I like you, but I don’t want to be alone here with you forever. Can you understand that?”

Shizue sighs, and pouts. “Yes.”

Merrick smiles at her. Shizue pouts a little longer, but then sighs and smiles back.

At the end of the third week, Merrick’s ship comes back to the cove. He lights a big fire to draw their attention, and they send a lifeboat to come and get him.

“By God, man, how are you alive?” one of his crewmates asks.

Merrick laughs, looking out over the water. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

#writeblr #fantasy #mermaids #aro character #short story #original fiction

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wildely-earnest · 9 months

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The Reaper

TW: Death, Child Death

There is never an easy job, for the Reaper, but these are always the hardest. The body in front of her is small and cold to the touch, and though the soul looks content, playing in the snow, it still pains her to see a life cut so short. The soul of the little boy looks up at her approach, giving a curious tilt of his head, and then holds out a snowball with a grin.

“Hello, miss! Would you like to play with me?”

“Hello, dear,” the Reaper says. “I’m afraid the time to play is over. It is time to come with me.”

“Oh,” the boy says, looking downcast. “Okay.”

The Reaper holds out her hand, and the boy reaches up and takes it. She leads him away, to the portal that will take him to the afterlife, and he gives one last glance over his shoulder – at his body – before he releases her and steps through.

The Reaper has been a Reaper for a long time. One would think the duration of service would make her numb to her duties, but truthfully it is the opposite; each day weighs more heavily on her than the last. She takes souls of all ages and walks of life to the other side. Sometimes they are surrounded by grieving relatives. Sometimes they are alone. She is not sure which is worse.

Most souls go without protest, but some scream and cry and fight to be returned to their bodies, unready to leave their lives. These will beg that there are people depending on them, that they cannot go, but the rules are strict, and there is nothing the Reaper can do but usher them along.

In the beginning, she had words of consolation for them. Now, still as unsure of what waits on the other side as she ever was, she has no such comforts to offer.

It is the middle of the rainy season, a thunderstorm brewing above, when she finds her next soul. It is a young woman, near the same age as she had been when she died, in a hospital bed with a man holding an infant beside her, tears streaking down his face. The Reaper pauses, looking down at the young woman as she parts from her body, moving over to her husband and child and placing incorporeal kisses on both of their heads. When she appears done, the woman steps back and gives the Reaper a tearful smile.

“Okay,” she says, “I’m ready now.”

The Reaper says nothing.

“Reaper? I am ready to go,” the woman repeats, taking a step forward.

The Reaper steps back. “I can’t,” she says, nearly inaudible.

“What?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” the Reaper says. “I cannot – I’m so tired of – I can’t –”

The woman’s face melts into sympathy. “Come here, Reaper,” she says, beckoning her forward. The Reaper shakes her head. The woman steps forward and takes the Reaper’s hands, implacable.

“Reaper,” the woman says, “it is not you who ends my life. You merely take me to the next. There is no shame in ferrying the dead, and no harm in the shepherding of spirits.”

“You do not understand,” the Reaper says. “I cannot see one more grieving family, one more lifeless child, one more forgotten person. I cannot continue like this. I may not be ending your life, but I am ensuring you leave it for eternity.”

“You are ensuring my peace,” the woman says gently. “I can see this weighs heavy on you, Reaper. How long has it been since your death?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps it is time for you to be led, rather than leading the way.”

The woman slides her hands away, and places them on the Reaper’s staff. “It is okay to desire peace, Reaper. Do you remember whose burden you shouldered?”

The Reaper thinks, for a long moment, digging through countless memories of death for her own. “A… man. He was old and weary, and he cried when he came for me, so I took his hand and his staff and released him from his duty.”

The woman reaches forward and wipes tears from the Reaper’s face she hadn’t even realized she had shed. She tugs the staff free from her hand. “You cry now when you come for me, so I grant you the same release, Reaper.” A portal opens up, glowing soft and white and warm. It calls out to her in a way they never had before, and the new Reaper helps the elder to her feet. She guides her forward, hands gentle and kind. She looks over her shoulder one last time, and then steps into a warmth and light she had forgotten waited for her, too.

#writeblr #the reaper #original fiction #short story #fantasy fiction #tw death

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