i am mermaid, hear me roar


“Call me Seahorse,” she said.

Her voice, musical yet with a sexy metallic rasp, entranced me as I stood next to her surveying the crowd of artsy Jacksonites filling the lobby of the Pink Garter Theatre. Hammerhead Shark swam by, followed in hot pursuit by Reef Shark, disappearing in the concave ripples of a giant iris.

“Where are you from,” I asked the scantily clad Seahorse Johnson III.

“A matriarchal society 10,000 leagues under the sea,” she sniffed.

“I’m nobody’s maid!” she roared.

All eyes were upon us! What had I done to upset the sea goddess, people wanted to know. I reached over and pulled gently on the power cord to her belly, and she gave a satisfied rumble. Her fingers relaxed their grip on her 7 foot spear.

“Hey, what happened to your finger,” I asked, casually, hoping to redirect Ms. Seahorse’s train of thought. Her left forefinger was capped with a silver thimble.

“Stupid near-sighted barracuda bit me!” she shrieked.

This time, the crowd hot footed it to the bar to try a 10,000 hours specialty cocktail, concocted in honor of Seahorse’s maker, Ben Roth.

At last I was alone with my lady. She burbled as I ran my hand down the screen of her skin. I was about to ask her what’s it like being made of air and light, metal and power, but she had her hand on the throttle and before I knew it her tail was a motor sending us soaring, aloft in an ocean of manmade things.





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