WATER(6)
1229 Words
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The water shimmered around them, tails glinting faintly beneath the churning surface. Their breathing came fast, uneven, every inhale echoing like thunder in their ears. They clung to one another’s hands, not for balance, but because none of them dared let go.
Beyoncé broke first, her laugh shaky, too thin to be real. “So… what now? Do we just…what? Swim off into the sunset?”
No one answered.
Annalise shifted, testing her body, and nearly toppled forward. Her stomach twisted at the heavy drag of the tail, so foreign it made her chest tighten. She tried again, clumsily, water slapping against her skin. “This isn’t…this doesn’t even feel possible.”
Miranda, steadier, tilted her head, watching the way the light bent off her scales. She flicked her tail cautiously, then again, slower, studying the rhythm. The movement wasn’t graceful, not yet, but there was something unsettling about how easily her body caught on.
Elina bit her lip, hesitating before copying the motion. Her attempt was messier, but still, the water seemed to carry her. “It’s like…” she whispered, voice trembling, “the ocean knows what to do, even if I don’t.”
Monica shuddered at the words. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”
Silence pressed in on them, broken only by the waves. For a moment, it felt as though the ocean itself was listening.
Then Beyoncé shook her head violently. “Nope. Absolutely not. We’re not doing this right now. If I stay out here any longer, I’ll lose my mind.” She started dragging herself toward the shore in clumsy, awkward strokes, muttering under her breath.
The others followed, each struggling against the weight of their new forms. It felt wrong to leave, like something deep in the water was pulling them back, but the fear of staying was stronger.
The instant they broke the surface and spilled onto the sand, it was over.
The glow fractured, rippling upward, until their tails split clean down the middle. Legs unfurled where there had been fins, the sand cool and solid beneath their returning feet. The sudden lightness made them stumble, collapsing into messy heaps across the beach.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Beyoncé finally groaned into the sand. “I don’t even know what’s worse, that we turned into freaking mermaids… or that we just turned back like it was nothing.”
Then Miranda, still clutching her knees, whispered, “So it’s not just visions. Not just tricks. It’s real. Large bodies of water… change us.”
Annalise pressed a trembling hand to her chest, forcing air into her lungs. “And the shower earlier,” she murmured. “That… it didn’t turn us fully, just a glimpse. Like it’s triggered differently depending on how much water we’re in.”
Beyoncé sat up. She gave a weak, nervous laugh. “Okay, so showers are risky. Spills, too. But a bathtub? That’s basically a mini-ocean. Forget it. I’m never sitting in one again.”
Elina’s brows knitted, the thought dawning on her. “What about the rain? We can’t exactly run from the sky.”
Silence fell. The idea hung heavy, more terrifying than anything else.
Monica finally broke it, her voice low but firm. “Then we’d better figure out exactly where the line is. What triggers it, and what doesn’t. Because if we don’t… sooner or later, someone’s going to find out.”
The ocean roared behind them, as if mocking the fragile rules they were only beginning to understand.
Miranda glanced at the dark water, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t say it out loud, but she already knew this wasn’t just chance. Whatever happened on that island hadn’t ended there. The Festival of Still Waters wasn’t a myth. It is their reality now.
____
Clara lay in bed, restless. Her mouth was dry, her stomach hollow, but not in the usual way. When her mother came in to check on her, Clara hesitated, then blurted, almost against her will,
“Do we have… any seafood?”
The words startled even her. She rarely touched seafood once in a while at most and yet, the thought of it now made her stomach twist with an urgent, unfamiliar craving.
Mrs. White stopped short, blinking at her daughter. “Seafood? Clara, you don’t even like seafood.”
“I know,” Clara whispered, embarrassed. “I just… want it.”
Her mother studied her a moment longer, confusion flickering across her face. Then she nodded slowly. “That’s a first. But if that’s what you want, I’ll make sure you have it.”
The silence stretched. Mrs. White lingered in the doorway, clearly unsettled, before speaking again. “Oh…Miranda called earlier. I told her you weren’t feeling well.”
The name landed like a weight in Clara’s chest. For a heartbeat, she forgot about food entirely.
“Miranda?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“Your new friend,” her mother reminded her, though her tone was careful, probing.
Something in Clara stirred. Hearing Miranda’s name wasn’t simple recognition, it was sharper, stranger. Like catching sight of someone in a dream, someone you almost remembered but couldn’t place. A flicker at the edge of memory, and then gone.
Her mother must have seen the hesitation in her face, because she asked, softly, “Clara… do you feel like you’ve met her before?”
Clara’s chest tightened. Her first instinct was to deny it. But she had felt something, that first day. A pang of familiarity she couldn’t explain, like she’d known Miranda somewhere long ago.
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. “No.”
Mrs. White’s eyes lingered, searching. But then she pasted on a smile. “Alright. Never mind.”
When she finally left, Clara sank back against her pillows, her pulse still racing.
The name Miranda seemed to have opened something inside her. And with it came the flashes she’d been trying to push away: the water, the impossible shimmer beneath the surface. Not just a hallucination. She could almost feel it still scales instead of skin, a heavy tail where her legs should have been, sleek and powerful, terrifyingly real.
What’s happening to me?
No one else had said anything. No frantic texts, no whispered calls about strange visions. Just her. Unless…
Her gaze flicked to her phone. Miranda had called. Her mom told Miranda she wasn’t well. And since Miranda knew, Monica and Annalise must know too.
So why hadn’t they reached out?
The thought stung more than she wanted to admit.
By the time night slipped over the house, Clara sat rigid on her bed, watching the sliver of light spilling from the half-open bathroom door. From inside came the slow drip, drip of the faucet. The sound crawled beneath her skin, pulling at something deep inside her.
Her chest tightened. She hugged her knees, unable to shake the fear that if she stepped beneath that water, she wouldn’t come out the same.
Her phone glowed at her side. Miranda’s name on the missed call pulsed like a heartbeat. Relief flickered at least Miranda cared, but the absence of Monica and Annalise still pressed heavy.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. She chewed her lip, torn. Then she set it down, face-first, as though the glow itself might betray her.
Not yet.
- Writer
