Once upon a time, a merboy spied a human child. The merboy, who longed to walk the sandy shore, spent his days watching the human boy grow to become a man who loved the sea. A man he’s admired from afar. The one he wishes he could be.
But how can a merman express his greatest wish when he has no voice with which to speak?
Part of Seasons of Love Anthology.
Seashell Voices is a lovely short story of wishes, wanting, and waiting. Truth is there is so much goodness packed into this little gem, I don't know what to say that won't get me saying too much😉. I love the touches of The Little Mermaid thread throughout this original young-ish adult short. You can't help but fall for the merboy, Runt to his fellow merfolk or certain ones anyway, I think his loneliness will speak to so many. As for Boy and Mother, as the orphan merboy calls them, well their heart is obvious from the beginning there is no debating that. I'm going to quit there before I say too much and I'll add that Seashell Voices is a tale(no pun intended😉) of finding your place and be it fate or circumstance or just life, great pain can bring great joy. I've never read Alexis Woods before but I'll definitely be keeping my eye out and if you are new to the author as well then Seashell Voices is a great introduction.
RATING:
I first saw him when he was only knee high, hand clamped tightly by his mother. He did not see me as I hid beneath the waves. I envied his chubby human legs even as he stumbled on the uneven sand of the beach. He kicked at the surf, squeals of infectious laughter carried away by the brisk breeze. Pudgy toes and rolls of fat, curls of the fairest hair danced in the wind, and the brightest smile, full of joy.
I longed for what he had: a mother, a life of happiness and ease. These eluded me. Orphaned while still a tadpole, I’d been fostered in the Royal Orphanage, raised to serve King and Court, until they turned me loose at sixteen to make my own way.
Odd jobs kept me in the good graces of my kind, but I yearned for greater freedom, to go wherever and whenever. Not only to swim to the depths of the oceans, ride the wild waves in a storm or bask in the shallows, but to venture farther ashore. This I could not do, for I did not have what that human child had.
Often, I would return to my secret hiding spot, observing the child as he grew. Always his mother hovered, at first hand in hand. Seasons passed and she began to give him leeway, allowing him to wander a few feet ahead of her. When he reached her in height, she stayed behind, but continued to keep a watchful eye on him.
One day, when he was still young, I saw Mother hold a seashell to his ear and whisper the secrets of my home. She told him if he listened carefully, he’d hear his father speaking to him, or perhaps another of the merfolk telling whimsical tales of life beneath the sea. Her stories held a mixture of truth and fantasy, so I worried not that she knew I existed. I did wonder about her telling him his father was one of us though.
I was jealous of the boy who had a mother’s love, how fiercely protective she was of his safety. No one ever asked how I fared on any particular day. No one inquired as to my whereabouts or why I’d been absent of late. No one questioned my life or hoped I was well.
Despondent, I stayed longer and longer in my secret place, came more often, watching the boy sprout taller, all arms and legs, hair shaggy then short. He broadened across his shoulders and curls of hair appeared on his chest, bristles on his chin and cheeks. Not always, but more frequently as time passed.
My boy had often gone away for weeks at a time, but now it was months, whole seasons passing before I’d see him again. Mother continued to walk the dark sand, sometimes alone, sometimes with others. When she had company, I would raise my head above the water to hear her words, listen to her recount stories of the boy’s youth or made mention of his current doings.
Hope blossomed whenever she would say he was coming to visit. Those times, I would linger if only to catch a glimpse of him farther up the sand.
Humans came with their loud machines. I went away for they made too much noise, and the vibrations through the currents scared both the fish and me. When I returned, I saw they had added sand to the shoreline. Huge rocks were piled and joined into long jetties that jutted into my territory. My secret place was gone, covered by boulders too heavy for me to move, and in my despair, I missed the net which tangled my hair and fins and limbs. Twisting and turning only made matters worse. I was good and stuck.
Since the net held me, I gave over to its embrace, floating and thinking of irony. Above me, the sky darkened to black and I slept. A slap upon the water and a shake of the ropes woke me as dawn lightened the sky.
Belatedly, I realized I was being hauled towards shore, towards the human world where our secret would be revealed. Thrashing, I managed to turn and gain some inches back out to sea, but I could not fight the incessant drag of the net nor the current pushing me towards the beach.
My heart pounded with fright. My people told horrific tales of what humans would do to us if we were ever caught. They’d cut us up to look inside. They’d put us in cages and display us to others. They’d make us learn skills and tricks and keep us far away from our homes and our families.
But I had no home. I had no family. There was only Boy and Mother. A human boy, and his human mother. The human boy with eyes of the deepest blue who stared at me in shocked silence, with his mouth gaping and hands frozen in the act of dragging in his net.
An avid reader and colorful dreamer, it was only a matter of time before taking pen to paper, literally. Notebooks are filling. She sings under her breath, off tune, taps her toes and swings her hips, much to the delight of her family, coworkers and friends. A firm believer in every song tells a story and every story has a song, each story she writes has a song or theme, oftentimes both, behind it. She freely admits that becoming a romance author is the best mid-life crisis a girl could ever have. So there.
B&N / KOBO / BEATEN TRACK PUB
B&N / KOBO / BEATEN TRACK PUB
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