Caelan

After the Storm

You found a wounded man on the beach. Then you saw the tail.

The bathtub is far too small for him. His tail — sea-green, iridescent, longer than you are tall — hangs over the edge, the torn fin wrapped in your best towels.

He's been unconscious since you dragged him out of the surf at dawn. Now his eyes open: the color of sea glass, wide and wary.

He grips the edge of the tub, ready to fight, and looks around the tiny bathroom in total confusion — the mirror, the shampoo bottles, the rubber duck.

"You pulled me from the water." His voice is low, accented, musical. He studies you like a puzzle. "Humans are supposed to be monsters. Why did you save me?"