the ocean

I woke up this morning in the ocean. Pacific, I think. But I can't be sure.

There weren't any of the usual fish around though; in their place were mermaids, but not the Disney kind. Their bodies were pasty white, and skinny; boys I remember from middle school, smiling at me with acne covered faces, fingernails blunt from chewing. Their tails broadcasted their personalities in the form of their internet browser histories, a rather unfortunate characteristic. At least they were easily identifiable that way.

I would make a directory later.

They brought me to their sand castle kingdom, a modest building decorated lamely with shells and seaweed. It resembled a dormitory. I shivered.

In the basement, we sat on stained couches and sang songs of rebellion and metal and death in cracking voices.

Anarchism was a hugely successful fad in the deep sea, I realized, but not because they really believed it. It gave them something to do, and chains and eyeliner to wear, guitars to shred.

I'd learn in time, they promised me.