The summer storms off the coast of the Island of Sanos are swift, punishing and utterly unpredictable. No one is safe from them. Even the most experienced fishermen are known to be swept up in these squalls, their ships broken upon the rocks, never to be seen or heard from again…

  Eamon

I tread water as overhead the clouds begin breaking up as quickly as they formed, the cheerful Meddio sun bursting through with mocking intensity. There is nothing left of my uncle’s fishing boat; it’s already settled on the sea floor by now. 

I don’t know how far the storm blew the boat before it capsized. I can’t see the shore. But I do see a bit of rock ahead. There are many such small islands off the coast of Sanos. I make for it on faltering limbs, drained by panic and desperation.

The circular island is small and rocky, no more than ten feet in diameter and covered in barnacles. I take an uncomfortable seat and heave a shaky sigh.

Guess this is how I die…

But it’s all my own fault, I think. For being so damned unlucky. 

It started with my uncle’s illness. I’m an only child. My mother is blind and I never knew my father. For as long as I can remember we’ve been dependent on my uncle. He taught me to fish and always saw to it there was food on our table. Then last winter he grew ill.

We spent all the money we had on medicine for him, but he never recovered. We were poor already; the only asset we had was his fishing boat. But he forbade me from selling it.

“That boat’s your livelihood, Eamon,” he told me. “So long as you have it, you can always go out and catch more fish. And so long as you have fish, Lad—” he broke off into a coughing fit, but I understood his meaning well enough.

It was fine to get into debt. We could always repay our debt—so long as we had the boat.

So like this, the debt piled up, right until the day Uncle died. We couldn’t afford to bury him, so while the town watched I hauled his body into the boat he loved so much, weighted with stones, and I dropped him a few miles from shore. Then, without even bothering to return to my grieving mother, I let down my net, and began trawling for fish.

But catches are slim. My uncle always knew instinctively where the fish would be, but I haven’t his talent. I am a poor fisherman at best, reluctant and awkward with the rigging. No matter how many times I went out with him, my heart was never in it.

What I really wanted, what I dreamed one day of becoming…

I’m exhausted after the storm. My spirit is broken and a part of me feels I’ve already gone mad sitting here, alone on this tiny island.

How many days will it take for me to thirst to death? I wonder. Would it be easier if I just drank salt water now and got it over with?

Now, you’re being too pessimistic, I can hear my mother say. She’s the opposite of me, endlessly positive in spite of the cards life’s stacked against her. But I’m not like her; I never have been. I’m a realist, and I see things for what they are. Hopeless.

Well, if I’m just going to die here anyway, then there’s nothing to stop me from doing that.

A melody comes to me, a song I used to love as a child. My mother was a traveling bard in her youth and I used to dream of being like her. Of course it was impossible. A foolish child’s whim. But that love of music hasn’t left me. And now, as I’m facing my own death, it’s all I’ve got left.

My rich baritone hum carries across the waves, a dark melody. I feel the notes resonating in my chest and the lyrics burst from me, a song so lovely, so poignant, it puts an ache deep within me.

I’ve held myself back for so long, told myself it was foolishness, for what? I love singing so much. And Mother’s lyre, I taught myself to play over the long winter months in secret, refusing to admit to anyone just how much I wanted it.

Instead I did the practical thing, did what was expected of me. I followed the sea and tried to fill my uncle’s shoes. And now…

I sing of my folly, of regret. The new melody just comes to me, the lyrics too. A haunting ballad. A masterpiece.

It’s too bad, I think with a wry smirk, no one will ever get to hear it.

I hear a splash a little ways off. A dolphin? Perhaps I’ve got an audience after all. I sing even more boldly, my vibrato carried on the wind. I hold my knees where I sit and tip my head back with my eyes closed, lost in the melody.

My throat is dry. I’ve probably been singing for an hour now. I go quiet with a sigh of resignation. Then beside me, I hear another sigh.

I open my eyes languidly to view the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, head laying on her arms while her lower half is submerged in the water, wearing a dreamy expression.

Am I hallucinating now? That sun is beating down pretty hard. Well, I’m glad at least I’ve dreamed up such a pretty companion. Even if she’s a mirage, it’s nice to have a little company in my final hours.

“You have an incredible voice.”

“Thank you.”

“Mh,” she smiles at me. Her pinkish strawberry blond locks are half dried in the sun. They curl all around her and trail down into the waves. Her hair is so long.

“Sing another song,” she prompts me, adjusting her position slightly where she leans on her arms, her brilliant teal colored eyes watching me from this short distance.

“I’m too parched to sing.”

She pushes her lips out in an adorable pout. “But I’m so bored. You’re the first interesting guy I’ve seen out here. Come on, sing me a song.”

“I’m flattered, but—” I cut myself off, perplexed. Are mirages supposed to talk back? Rather—are they supposed to talk at all?

“Oh, do you know the song about the lemon trees on the island? It goes like—mh mh mhhh… You know?”

She’s not quite tone deaf, I think with a growing sense of bewilderment. Not quite.

Though my throat is horribly dry, I feel compelled somehow to sing it for her. As I do she smiles brilliantly, revealing a row of sparkling white teeth. She’s so beautiful it takes my breath away.

“I love that song!” she pronounces when I’ve completed her request. “You sing it so well. What do they call you, anyway?”

“Eamon.”

She laughs. “What a funny name.”

She’s right. It’s not a name anyone else from Sanos has, to my knowledge. But my mother is a strange woman.  

“Just Eamon?” she asks.

“Commoners don’t have surnames.”

“How very plain.”

“Sorry it’s plain,” I say with a bite of sarcasm. “What’s your name?”

“My name is—well, just call me Blossom,” she decides.

I laugh. “Blossom? At least my name is real.”

“Quiet, you,” she splashes me suddenly with a wave of her tail. “That was my mother’s nickname for me.”

Tail. Yes, I’m sure I just saw a fish tail. Long and peachy rose colored, her scales gleamed in the brilliant sunlight.

Well, why shouldn’t she be a mermaid? I reason with myself. She’s my hallucination. I can make her anything I want.

“You…are a hallucination, right?”

“Pardon?”

I reach up to wipe the sea water she sprayed at me away from my brow. This seems real enough, I think with a growing sense of alarm.

Suddenly I panic and lunge out, grabbing Blossom by the wrist. She squeaks in surprise.

“What are you doing? Let me go, you!”

“You’re real!” I gasp, holding onto her for dear life. “You’re really real!”

“Let go! Let go, or I’ll stab you!”

Suddenly there’s a dagger in her hand. I spring back before she can catch me with it. She holds it towards me with a frightened look, then she pushes off suddenly and dives, showing just the tips of her pretty pink tail as she does.

No!

I rise, heart thrumming, searching the waves for her figure.

“Blossom!” I cry. “Blossom!” But she does not rise.

I tear my hair in frustration. Am I a fool? What was I thinking, frightening her like that?

Gods, what have I done? She might have helped me. Pointed me towards land or even went off and brought a search party. But I scared her away, and now I’ll never see her again.

Unless…

It’s a long shot and I’m already hoarse from overusing my voice, but—

What have I got to lose?