Daily Haiku

An Ordinary Drowning

Excerpt:

John’s savior sat some minutes, watching him. Then she leaned forward and pressed several fingertips to his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was there, strong and steady. She let her hand slide along the skin of his jaw, brushing the hair away from his cheek. She put a light fingertip on his mouth, now a warm red. Her lips tingled and she leaned her face closer—perhaps she could press her lips there again? He moaned and rolled his head against the stones. The mermaid snatched her hand back and waited, her breath held, but he didn’t move again. She didn’t touch him a second time; instead, she caressed the hard muscles of his calves with her gaze. She looked away from his feet though. One still wore one of those pseudo-flippers that always made her shiver.

She had, of course, seen countless humans—snorkeling and diving, on shore and on deck. But she’d never touched one before, never felt the dry skin that prickled with fine hairs. This man overwhelmed her. Already the sun had evaporated most of the water on his chest, which was covered with dark hair. Not like a merman, smooth and sleek and slender. His chest, shoulders, and hips were wider and his frame bulkier. His flesh was a different color, too. He was pale, but not shark-belly pale like the mer people. His skin held warmth, the warmth of sun-bleached wood. Only his long dark hair resembled a merman’s. Her nostrils flared at his scent. She had no words to describe it other than hot and dry, but she used those words for the shore and he didn’t smell like the shore. He smelled like the wind from distant lands.

A voice, sandy and familiar, abraded her thoughts. “What have you done, young one?”