When hunting mermaids, it’s best to keep your rudder close and your first mate closer.
That’s why Captain Marda allows these brief nighttime trysts with Barth. Barth lays his stubble against the smooth white of the place under her collarbone, and she keeps the map open on the communicator. He whispers things like, “fins like gold” and “seaweed hair” to himself, into her thighs, and she watches the dot of their sub blink across the blue screen.
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Fantasy, 936 words, first appeared 2015 at Pulp Literature →
Holly Lyn Walrath is a freelance editor and author of poetry, flash fiction, and short fiction. She likes weird things and cats. Find her on Twitter:
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