The world felt light as a balloon, helium filled and taking me higher. I had a bottle of vino in one hand and a sawed off shot gun in the other. Most of my time on the faery coast had been spent shooting empty tomato cans and arguing with the Chief. He was just as stubborn as I was, surprisingly, if not more iron-willed than I gave myself credit for. Short like I was. Perceived with eyes akin to mine and a consciousness that jumped to petty conclusions.
Rescue wasn't an option. Beached as we were on the cusp of the worlds, only faith kept men alive. Did the spirits even exist? I was lost at sea with a group of scallawags, most of whom smelled like construction site potties.
I was ready to abandon the metaphorical ship when the mermaids began to assemble. They were beautiful. Earl shot one. Then he shot another. Another boom and the rest of our crew lost their minds.
Ever wonder why no one today has ever glimpsed a mermaid? It’s because Earl killed them all and mounted them on his wall in the ghost ship. Begging led not to mercy yet instead to cruelty.