The ocean is busier than ever these days. A couple of hundred years ago, mermaids were being hunted by fishermen so frequently that our population numbers dwindled down to extinction. But the past few decades have seen this trend in reverse as we learned to hide from their ships and deceive their scouts. I am barely twenty, so I never got to experience the secrecy and fear that came with the height of the mermaid hunts, but I have heard the stories.
My grandfather says the worst of the boats had a fishing boat decal sticker of a giant squid on the underside of its hull. It moved so silently that we couldn’t tell it was coming but for the dull thud of its anchor hitting the ocean floor. When we looked up and saw the inky squid peering back at us through the opaque water, we kicked our fins and swam as fast as we could. I’m glad I wasn’t around in those days. Whenever an elder tells the story of swimming away, there is a sliver of fear in their eyes that makes me shiver.
Now that the mermaids are at the height of our power again, we’re holding a celebration in the coral fields to commemorate our history and prepare for our upcoming battle against the humans. The fields are always colourful, but today it’s as though all the rainbows in the world have conspired to appear here for our celebration. Bubbles twirl in the water, fish flicker and dance around the perimeter, and someone even seems to have shorn off a vinyl boat print from a shipwreck and strung it up across two tall pieces of coral. My brother is a musician, so I imagine he’ll be floating around here somewhere, shining his metal tubes and getting ready to perform. As for me, I’m just excited for the food. There’s a stall selling seaweed soup that I’ve been eyeing for the past few hours, and as soon as the ceremony finishes I’m going to make a beeline for it.