On the Beach

Image courtesy of Marisa Harris on Unsplash

“911 — ”

“Help! I need — they’re everywhere! I need — ”

“Sir? Sir, I need you to calm down and tell me your location.”

“There’re so many. They’re crying.”

“Sir, where are you?”

“The beach. Moolack Beach. Like, like a mile south of Otter Rock. Can’t you hear them crying?”

“Yes, sir — ”

“They just threw themselves up on the beach. Like they couldn’t stop. What do I do?”

“Sir, help is on the way. I am dispatching EMTs and police — ”

“What do I do? They’re crying.”

“Sir, do you see the queen?”

“Uh, hold on. Maybe, maybe. No. I’m looking. What — ”

“She’ll be larger than the other mernaids. With more pearls and shells and other things braided into her hair — ”

“Oh! Oh yeah! Yeah, I found her!”

“Okay, I need you to drag her back into the water, into the shallows. Just far enough that she stays wet and can breath.”

“Okay. grunt Hold on. I got you. I got you. urf Just hold on. … God, there are babies out here.”

“ … Yes, sir.”

“Where are the damn EMTs!?”

“Help is coming, sir. Help is coming ….”

[Rebecca Buchanan is the editor of the Pagan literary ezine, Eternal Haunted Summer. A complete list of her published poems and fairy tales, fantasy, horror, mystery, romance, and science fiction stories can be found there.]