Death of the Mermaid

I.

It was storming. The clouds were thick and chaotic, slowly breathing and on the move - miniature nebulas, pouring out rain and detail in random assault.The arena of the sun, that stagnant and oppressively peaceful blue dome, was dethroned far off somewhere and fallen away.

Her eyelashes flashed apart and fluttered open, responding to the first drops of morning rain. She hadn't allowed the roosters to wake her, or her mother's noisy routine before work - running water, clinking dishes, beeping appliances - what seemed an intentional doorslam as she departed - the television that was always left on blaring at high volume.

She curled up and tightened the blankets around her. Her cheeks were rosing, defying the cold. She stared out her bedroom window at the sea of fields and oak. She searched for something to light the instinct of her inner world, plagued by loveless things.