No Compromise in Illusion: A Short Story

I wrote this short story as an assignment for a class in college. It’s curated for a good grade based on the professor’s apparent preferences, so it’s not really my style. But it’s good to be taken out of your comfort zone. It’s speculative fiction and fantasy, and I usually like to write realistic fiction. I pulled an all-nighter to write the whole thing, so I did make a few edits before posting to make it more concise and help the flow in some places.

I’ve been told it’s quite dark, so if you’re in the mood to read something light and happy, consider yourself warned.

No Compromise in Illusion

I emptied the pitcher of water in his face and stood back as he shot up and spluttered, swiping at his face with his hands. Micah glared at me from his perch on his cot and cursed.

I frowned at him in mock disapproval. “It’s just water. It’s supposed to provide clarity. For your skin and your brain.” I surveyed the dirt still clinging to his face for a moment before I motioned for him to get up with a jerk of my head and said, “Come on. You have five minutes or your sister and I are leaving without you.”

I left him so he could get dressed and made my way across the warehouse where I lived. It wasn’t much of a home, but it was a roof over my head, so I couldn’t really complain. In lieu of money, Leon let me stay if I walked his kids safely to school every day. Safely is the key word there. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

Micah’s little sister Fiona was waiting for me at the garage door, which was open to let the sunlight into the dark warehouse. She was bouncing on her toes and smiling at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back. I heard someone approaching swiftly behind me and I turned just as Micah brushed past me, mumbling, “Let’s go already.”

I swung my baseball bat with 7-inch nails hammered into its barrel onto my shoulders and followed them out into the sunlight. I was on full alert. Carl, the man in charge of this region, had just issued a lockdown on food. He was even killing people if they were growing their own food. Ever since Carl announced his little plan to monopolize, people were hungry, on edge, and itching for trouble.

I glanced at Fiona, who was sighing loudly and fidgeting, making it obvious that she was bored. Before, when it was just Micah and I, we would walk in silence. But Fiona likes to talk, and she’s too cute not to accommodate.

“So, Fiona, how are you liking your new baby sister?”

Fiona immediately grinned at me and bounced in excitement, “I love her so much! She’s darling and precious and it’s so much better with her around because Momma isn’t sleeping as much anymore and she’s cooking dinner for us and Dad is not yelling as much. Right, Micah?” Fiona ended her rambling and looked up at Micah with wide eyes full of innocence and good intent.

Micah shrugged, his shoulders hunched over and his hands in his pockets. “It’s just another vagina to protect.”

Shocked at his crude words, I remonstrated, “Micah!”

He spun toward me at my stern tone, his head held defiantly. But he had nothing to say and he turned back around, his resolve dissipating. He had probably gotten that language from his father. Micah glanced at his sister, who had flinched at his words and was now staring at the ground as she walked along. He easily caught up with her, glanced at her face, and nudged her with his shoulder. His form of an apology. She rejoined him on the sidewalk and they walked together side by side.

A woman’s scream interrupted their reconciliation.

Micah immediately went on high alert, stiffening and gazing intently toward the sound. His feet were geared to run in the direction of the scream, but my hand was already on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

He tried to shrug me off. “Let me go! I want to help her.”

“That’s a good way to get yourself killed. No, we’re going to school where they’ll hopefully teach you not to be so stupid.”

He turned to face me in frustration, his face screaming with desperate helplessness. “What if it was Fiona? What if it was you?”

I looked down at him sternly and tried to get him to listen with the force of my words, “It wouldn’t be Fiona. Because she has you to protect her.”

“And who is going to protect that woman?”

I sighed and nudged him forward a little. “She doesn’t have anyone to protect her, Micah. Few people do.”

A couple of minutes and a thousand glares from Micah later and the school was in sight. Along with the hospital, it was surrounded by a 10-foot high fence, a bunch of armed men, and a couple of armed women. The school and the hospital were pretty much the only places a large group of people gathered anymore, which made them both easy targets. Carl’s men let us keep guard because they knew that if they didn’t let us protect our children, they couldn’t control us.

I stood by the gate and watched as Micah and Fiona walked across the courtyard. Micah always walked Fiona to her classroom door, even though it was on the opposite side of the building. Then I watched Micah as he walked all the way back to his classroom, obstinately not looking at me even though he knew I was there.

As I turned away, a voice stopped me. “Hey, Payne.” Tom, one of the parents who stood guard outside the school all day every single weekday, walked toward me a step. “Carl has something going down near Rosario’s today. I know you usually go down that way to pick up some things for Leon, but you might want to stay away, at least for a couple days.”

I nodded to him in gratitude. “Thanks Tom.”

I’ll just have to take another route. Annoying since I’m not familiar with the landscape and I might get caught on a couple of cameras, but I’ll take that over getting caught up in whatever Carl’s got planned. Ever since the second American Civil War ended three years ago and North Korea stopped trying to take advantage of our weakened state, there hasn’t been any kind of cohesive United States. No federal government with any authority and no state government. Just a bunch of people snatching up power where available. Usually people like Carl.

I gripped my bat tighter as I navigated through unfamiliar houses and abandoned stores. A tingling feeling had started crawling up my spine ever since I entered the alley. The wind shifted some cardboard boxes and I spun around. A scrawny cat jumped down off a large trash bin and I nearly threw my arm out of its socket swinging my bat ever-so-threateningly.

Irritated by my own jitters, I resolved to leave the alley without getting spooked another time.

Which was probably stupid, because the next moment I was lying unconscious on the concrete with a growing bump on the back of my head.

***

When I woke up, the floor below me was rocking and shifting steadily. I squinted through wincing eyes as I became fully aware of my throbbing head, my sheer nakedness, and the soreness in unfamiliar places. I was in what looked like a small cabin with rotting wood and unsanitary surfaces. It was scarcely furnished except for a table in the middle of the floor, the chair I was tied to, and a shelf of tools that ran along one wall.

The floor was still rocking below me. I was on a boat. I had only been on a boat once when I was a kid and my parents were still alive and had a little money to spare for joy rides. Few people had boats nowadays. Or anything remotely expensive, for that matter. It was better not to have anything worth stealing, because it will be stolen, and perhaps your life along with it. Whoever owned this boat must have hidden it well.

I didn’t have too long to take in my surroundings, because the door opened to reveal a man around forty-five to fifty years old with a full beard and head of shoulder-length dark brown hair that was graying slightly. He was thin and wiry, but moved with strength and intention.

He took me in to make sure I was still tied to the chair and then moved over to the shelf without speaking. He occupied himself with something I couldn’t see and seemed to ignore me.

After a couple of minutes, my nerves couldn’t take it anymore, and after a deep breath to control my shaky voice, I asked, “Excuse me, but can you please tell me what I’m doing here?”

He spared me a glance and said cryptically, “No need to waste your emotions on worry. You have precious little time and you might as well relax.”

My heart began beating even quicker, but I managed to mutter, “Comforting. Thanks.”

After another beat of silence, “Mind telling me why?”

The man turned toward me, something in his hands. It was a block of concrete with a rope hanging from a hook buried in the concrete. He came toward me and set the block on the table near me. His voice was calm and matter-of-fact, “The world could use fewer women.”

He glanced at me, studied my expression, and smiled an arrogant smile that said You think you’ve got me all figured out, but I defy your shallow assumptions. He shifted towards me, as if welcoming me into a conversation. “I can see the boredom on your face already. You’re thinking I’m another baseless misogynist, aren’t you.” He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Sorry to disappoint. But if you really think about it, the United States was so much greater before women had the right to vote. Men built this country, we fought wars for independence and our own strength; we were the emblem of democracy. And then women got the right to vote and we started fighting other people’s wars for them, we starting fighting in senseless wars, we became a consumerist nation in debt, and women sissified men until there weren’t any real men left. And look at us now. There was too much women sentimentality and too little of male rationality and we fought a war that led us to destruction.” He leaned down so our eyes were level. His eyes weren’t crazed like I expected, but there was a quiet, determined fury that unsettled me. “You can’t say you don’t see the pattern.”

“I’m sorry, but my judgement is currently impaired by my womanly emotions,” I replied sardonically.

His eyes actually seemed to reflect disappointment, but then they deadened into his former mechanical resolve. He stood up straight and motioned for me to get up. “It’s time to go. Get up.” He put his hand under my elbow to help me up, tightened his grip to make me stop, put the loop of rope around my neck, and pushed me toward the door of the cabin.

As I moved forward I said while my voice box vibrated against the rope, “You know, even if there was someone to vote for—which there isn’t—I wouldn’t be old enough to vote, anyway.”

He sighed. “You’re missing the point. Keep moving,” and he pushed me in the back with his block of concrete, but he didn’t say anything further. 

My feet stumbled underneath me as I left the final step and emerged on the deck. My eyes adjusted to the sight of endless water, no sight of land in any direction. “So by killing me you’re going to magically return the U.S. to its former glory?” I tried to keep him talking as my eyes frantically shifted over the deck of the boat, looking for anything to use as a weapon.

His laughter resounded in the silence. “Next you’re going to ask something ridiculous like why I hate women, right? I love women,” he said with a sickening grin, the first sign of madness I had seen from him. “They serve a necessary purpose, a God-given purpose, but they’ve strayed from that purpose, and they feed off of each other. Let’s just call this my way of evening the playing field.”

I was standing by the edge of the boat now, still searching the bare deck for something I could use. But when he told me to turn to face him, I did.

The moment my feet turned toward him, he threw the block of concrete at me, catching me by surprise. I caught the concrete block and stumbled back. The back of my legs met the edge of the boat, making me flip over the side. I splashed into the water and tried to get rid of the concrete block that was making me sink, but the moment I let go, the rope tightened around my neck, effectively choking me. In my panic, I grabbed at the rope, trying to loosen it in vain.

I was sinking to the bottom of the ocean and gasping for breath, gradually losing consciousness, when I felt my body begin to thicken. For a moment I thought I was bloating, but a spark of rational thought reminded me that bloating happens after death, and I wasn’t dead yet. Was I?

Whether I was dead or not, my body was thickening and becoming rubbery, causing the rope around my neck to snap. As the rope continued to sink along with the block of concrete, I gasped for breath. It took me a moment to question how I could breathe. Underwater.

I looked down at my body, taking in my feet, which had merged to make a tail, the blubber, (which I realized was why I thought my body was bloating), the blue-greenish tint to my body, and my webbed fingers. My fingers trembled as they traveled to my head, which used to have a long mane of black hair, but was now hairless. My fingers slid down my face, lingering on the bumps that were gills on my cheeks.

“Now that was a sight!” The voice behind me made me spin around. “Watching your skinny ass turn into…well…the new you!”

The voice sounded like a human girl, but it was coming from a being that looked like a cross between a manatee and a mermaid. The being swam closer to me, a smile on her fishlike face. “Hi! I’m Melody.” As she took in my blank face, she cocked her head to one side and asked, “Are you okay?”

Something about the absurdity of her question struck me funny, and I ended up laughing, probably a product of the shock and stress of dying. As my laughter ceased, Melody just stood there studying me with the same worried expression on her face. I made an empty gesture with my hands and replied, “No, Melody. I’m not okay. A sexist, delusional sociopath just murdered me.”

“Oh, yeah. Randy. He killed me, too.”

I just stared at her.

When she realized I wasn’t going to say anything, she continued, “So I’m sure you have a ton of questions. People usually do after dying.” As she said “dying,” she made quotation marks with two webbed fingers. “But you’re also probably tired, so you can rest now or you can ask questions now and rest later.” She fell silent and waited for my response with her large, doe eyes that were unnerving me a little.

“Yeah, um, question. Am I actually dead?”

“No, silly. You’re a mermaid. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Payne. With a ‘y,’ not an ‘i,’ so don’t you dare mention the irony. And I thought mermaids were supposed to be pretty.” I realized it was going to sound petty and childish before it was out of my mouth, but I said it anyway.

Melody gasped in mock offense, “What do you mean. I’m gorgeous.” She did a little spin and flipped her nonexistent hair. I couldn’t muster a smile or even an eye roll. At my lackluster response, she muttered, “Oh, you’re a fun one, aren’t you.” Then she waved a webbed hand dismissively and explained in a monotone, “That is a common misconception. Mermaids have the power to manipulate illusions. We appear beautiful to the human eye until we erase that illusion and reveal our natural form.”

She then cocked her head and said contemplatively, “I’m sure it’s some type of natural selection thing. I mean, if we appear beautiful, people are more likely to think of us as an illusion, but if we appear ugly, people will be more willing to believe in our existence. And then they’ll start killing us for our parts.” She ended brightly, in total contrast with her words, as one does when they think of a horrible outcome but doesn’t believe in its possibility.

In response to her expectant look, I awkwardly replied, “No, that wouldn’t… be… good.”

She laughed and shook her head, “Probably not.”

“So is that all we can do? Make us look prettier than we really are?”

“Of course not. We can enchant people with our voices. We can manipulate the sight of any and every human, but we can only lure those with black hearts with our song. Those with pure hearts either don’t hear our song or are soothed by it, as if they are hearing a lullaby inside their heads. Oh, and we can also manipulate dreams. That’s my favorite. Whenever a child is close enough, I like to give them pleasant dreams.” She turned and motioned for me to follow her. She swam off before I had a chance to say anything, and I had no choice but to follow her.

I tried to process the new information as fast as I could. “Wait. So we’re sirens? We can wreck ships and lure men with our voices?”

“We can lure people, men and women. Don’t be so narrow-minded. And merpeople. Sirens. Who cares? Those are human terms, and humans always mix up their myths to satisfy whatever story they’re telling.”

I had always been a horrible singer. Whenever a five-year-old Fiona couldn’t sleep from nightmares, she would ask me to sing to her, and everyone else in the warehouse would put their pillows over their heads. Once, a drunk Leon came over and threw me out of the warehouse by my hair. I opened my mouth to test my new ability, but my lungs couldn’t produce a sound in my disheartened state, and I immediately snapped my mouth closed. “Okay. So if he—Randy—killed you, why haven’t you killed him in return? You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a black heart.”

Melody squirmed in discomfort at my question, but continued swimming without looking back at me. “Oh, Naomi doesn’t like us doing that kind of stuff. She says revenge isn’t a worthy pursuit and brings more trouble than comfort. If a bunch of people started disappearing out here, unnecessary attention will be drawn to the depths of the oceans. No one knows we exist; Naomi wants to keep it that way.”

“Who’s Naomi?”

“She’s the oldest mermaid in existence. Which means she’s the most evolved. She looks… well, more like a manatee than a human. You’ll probably recognize her when you see her. She kind of stands out.”

“Was she born down here?”

“Oh, no. Merpeople can’t reproduce. Sorry if you planned on bequeathing your fishy attributes to a school of offspring, but the only way merpeople are born is if a pure heart dies in the ocean. Naomi was killed 84 years ago when she was 18 years old. You know when the Red Army liberated Eastern Europe after World War 2, and they ended up raping millions of women, whether they were Axis or Allies? Well, she was in Poland, and the man who… well, I guess that wasn’t enough for him and he had to kill her, too.” Melody’s voice was trembling in anger.

I didn’t say anything, lost in thought. How could people doing something as good as liberating people from hell do something so horrible?

After a few moments of silence, I asked, “So you said we can only lure those with black hearts. What about someone with a gray heart?”

Melody laughed with bitterness. “I once asked Naomi the same thing. Naomi just laughed. Apparently there is no such person.”

I stopped swimming. Melody, realizing that I wasn’t following her anymore, stopped as well and asked, “What’s wrong? We only have a little bit left to go.”

I looked at her with a strange, twisted look. The muscle in my jaw jumped and I asserted in a low tone, “Mother Nature—or whoever decided to turn me into a mermaid—must have made a mistake, because I definitely do not have a pure heart. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you or your Naomi, but I can’t let that bastard go free.”

Before she could respond, I turned and swam in the direction we came. As I was swimming with Melody, I had gotten used to my new body, which made swimming much easier and faster than when I was human. It didn’t take me long to reach Randy’s boat, which hadn’t moved from where he drowned me a little over ten minutes ago.

As I paused to take in the boat, Melody caught up with me and grabbed me by the arm with her webbed hand. “You don’t want to do this. It isn’t right.”

“And I suppose letting him live, granting him mercy, is the right option? And then how many girls will he kill?”

Melody’s eyes were sad, but she didn’t loosen her grip. “This is something you can’t take back.”

At that moment, Randy came out onto the deck. Once Melody saw him, fear entered her eyes and her steel grip slackened. I rose to the surface, and Melody didn’t move to stop me.

I opened my mouth and started to sing. It came naturally; my voice full of pain and sorrow, the kind of haunting sound only the blackest of hearts could be drawn to. As my voice filled the air, the man on the boat turned to lock eyes with me. In a trance, he slowly approached me, although his body seemed to be trying to reject his mind.

My song won out as he leaned over the side of his boat, trying to get closer to the haunting beauty serenading him with darkness. I lured him closer and closer into the water until I was sure I had him. Then I broke the illusion, baring my gills and opening my mouth to reveal my sharpened teeth. I watched Randy’s eyes widen in horror as I grabbed him by the neck and yanked him overboard and into the water.

He struggled against me as I wrapped my fingers around his thin neck, but mermaids are stronger than humans. They have to be if they want to survive constantly swimming. I dragged him to the depths by his neck, watching as his eyes deadened, his arms slackened, and mouth stopped begging for mercy.

And then I let go.

I turned to Melody, but she was facing away from me and there was something that looked like a manatee beside of her, but its face resembled a human, albeit a very fishy human. Whatever animal Naomi resembled, the emotion in her eyes was totally human: reproachful, angry, reproving. Sanctimonious.

I met her gaze in defiance. “What? Are you going to take away my prized “pure” heart?”

Naomi lifted her barely existing chin. “Just because you are awarded a power, doesn’t give you the right to use it for evil.”

“What I did wasn’t evil. I was performing a justice that the deteriorated United States is unable to give right now.” I softened my voice and continued, “I’m sorry, I know you think what I just did was wrong, but I don’t believe that things are that black and white.” I shook my head, battling the urge to simply swim away rather than try to make them understand. “We’re always caught between two extremes. Hate and love. Beauty and hideousness. Mercy and brutality. Good and evil. Right and wrong. When did the gray area disappear? When did we become incapable of compromise? It’s what caused the war, it’s what prevented healing. The very definition of justice involves a gray area. There is no justice in this world anymore, so I did what I had to do. And I think it was right.” Even as I said it, I felt the doubt sink in, but my resolve returned as I said, “He won’t hurt anyone anymore. And you don’t have to worry about someone coming to look for his dead body in your precious ocean. No one is looking for anyone anymore.”

Reflection

I’m not sure why I feel the need to further explain this story. Perhaps because it is so far out of my comfort zone.

But I wrote it because I knew that my professor probably wanted to see stories about issues currently existing in society in the light of speculative fiction. That’s why I made the inability to compromise the central theme of my story. I hope I made it clear within my short story, but that issue was the reason the war started, it was present in the mermaids’  “beauty” and their unattractiveness, and in the idea that justice doesn’t consider contextual evidence. I also included it, although it was much more subtle, by juxtaposing the world on land and the world underwater, one chaotic and the other peaceful. I tried to indicate the powers of water when “awakening” Micah at the very beginning, but I also tried to drive home that binaries are limiting through introducing violence within the world underwater.

My teacher was also passionate about social justice, and I had recently heard someone in my life say “America was greater before women had the right to vote,” so that’s where that strain of the story came from (obviously intensified and made more diabolical).

Anyways, I hope you found something to enjoy in the story and it wasn’t too dark or too rushed (there was a page limit, so that definitely might be a possibility).

Enjoy the rest of your Snippet Sunday!