Darryl stared me straight in the eye. “He swam off with a mermaid on Christmas Day.”
I jotted two words on my pad — Deluded? Denial? — and drew a circle around them both. “Wasn’t it rather cold?”
“His heart was frozen anyway. No job. Mum didn’t want him anymore.”
“So what did the mermaid have to offer?”
“A new life.”
If that’s what you want to call “suicide”, I thought.
Darryl slid a photograph across the table. It was of some clothes neatly folded at the end of a jetty and a silver tailfin sticking up out of the water nearby.
Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo prompt: image (c) Lucy Fridkin
How many more times must I tell you? I’m a reincarnation of Michelangelo, so stop pumping Risperdal into me and interrupting a genius at work. I intend to hatch a nautilus out of my living stone display. Yes, I said “living”. Of course, stones are alive. What are you blathering on about? They’re not inanimate, you idiot. Just give me space to communicate with them, otherwise they’ll keep giving birth to snail shells instead of a creature of divine proportions. What? You say I’m mistaken about the nautilus: the golden ratio is formed from a rectangle? Now who’s gone bonkers?
Photo Prompt: courtesy of Douglas McIlroy
Friday Fictioneers — 100 word stories