Mermaid's Grotto

The Mermaid's Grotto was a quaint cafe on the coast of Mexico. It had a green underwater theme, located in a man-made cave (true to the "Grotto"). The food was of the seafood variety, and it wasn't half bad. The owner, though, was a beauty, and brought in more customers than the food or the atmosphere.

She had dark chestnut hair, curly and long. She had olive eyes, a sharp and straight nose, and a slightly too wide mouth. She had a weird look about her-- not in an unattractive way. She just had a face that you stared at and couldn't look away from. Regardless, she was beautiful, and she moved there two years ago, and has since become so close to the locals that she might as well be one, too.

She was always ready to try new things; she had an adventurous personality and radiated confidence, so when one of the locals invited her out to cliff diving, she readily accepted. They are both naive people in nature, but she more so than he. She knew the dangers better than he, and knew full well what they, she, was risking.

The local's name was Pascal, and he was a sweet boy, probably around 16 or 17. He had dark skin and dark hair, and had a tall and broad stature in general; he was an athlete with a puppy dog disposition.

They got to the cliff side, having met up at the currently closed Mermaid's Grotto. Pascal looked into her olive eyes with his own brown eyes.

"Are you ready?" He asked, offering her his hand.

"Of course," she replied, giving the offer of his hand a slight sneer. Without hesitation, they both turned and ran towards the edge of the cliff, as if racing.

Despite the salt in the water, Pascal opened his eyes to look at her. He gasped, inhaling the water, beginning to choke. She looked at him, startled and afraid. Pascal blacked out as she swam towards him, her mermaid tail glinting in the rays of sunlight peeking through the water.

Her name was Raisa.

Acrostic Poem: Briar Rose

Beating the beast isn't easy
Rather, most people need medication
If they get help
After a suicide attempt
Rigged, it almost seems, because you have to hit

Rock Bottom before getting help,
Or being taken seriously
Slits of the wrist, a slip of the hand is all it takes,
Even less, for some.


(image found at fineartamerica.com)

Haiku 3: Blueberry Buckle

Oh so blue I am
From your harsh words, comments, no
I won't stand for it,


(image found at losslessape.xyz)

Haiku 2: Blue Violet

"Violet" is her name
Blue is the color of her dress
An absolute blue.


(image found at www.designstack.co)

Haiku 1: Aphrodite

Like Aphrodite,
So fine, so lovely, help me
You are all I want.


(image found at sscindyss.deviantart.com)

Object Inspired Piece - Second Draft: The Bath Foam

The tub water ran, faucet shaking slightly as water gushed out. The water was a pale, murky yellow from the lemon velvet bath foam; bubbles were forming. A foot donning light pink toenails stepped into the tub, shortly joined by the other. The feet were attached to a pair of long, tan legs; the woman they belonged to was curvy and conventionally attractive, but enchanting all the same. She had stormy eyes-- grey with blue specks-- and she sported a beeline honey bob. These features got her numerous opportunities, until recently.

She disrobed herself-- quite literally, as she took off her bathrobe-- and lowered herself into the foam water. She closed the cap to the bottle of bath foam, glancing at the bathroom door.

Eleonora was her name. She was 20 years old, and lived in a crummy apartment with a crummy lock in Florida. She was going to school to get a teaching degree as a back up plan; hopefully she wouldn’t need to fall back on it, and her cheesy (and a dime-a-dozen) romance novellas would take off.

Truth be told, she wouldn’t have a career as an author, but she won’t have to be a teacher, either. And no, before you think of it, she won’t be getting an “M-R-S” degree.

She won’t make it to tomorrow, as a matter of fact.

Eleonora's day started as normally as it did every day; wake up, eat breakfast, brush her teeth, get ready for school, go to class, then go to work. All of it was normal to the point that the day breezed by for her, and before she knew it she was locking the doors to the library where she worked. It was 9 pm on a Thursday and the downtown streets were as quiet as his breathing.

The walk home was quiet. Nothing happened. She jangled her keys as she walked up the stairs to her apartment, deciding to bother with the lock. She jiggled the knob, stepped into her apartment, and locked the door as she shut it. She took off her coat, set her purse on the floor, and slipped off her shoes. She rolled her shoulders and she walked through her apartment, eventually undressing herself. She made her way to the bathroom, rummaging through her medicine cabinet to find the bath foam. She unscrewed the cap, poured some into the tub beneath the faucet, and turned it on. She left it to remove her makeup in the bathroom.

When she returned, the tub was full. She turned it off, stepped in, and laid in the tub. She glanced at the bathroom door, sighing. She reached out of her tub to turn off the radio, and cranked it. The shabby and thin walls were shaking with how loud it was; she couldn’t hear a thing. She closed her eyes and relaxed, almost as if she was melting into the tub.

She didn’t hear the loud bang as her front door was slammed open, the lock not proving to be effective. She didn’t hear the footsteps down the hall. She didn’t notice the bathroom door opening. She did, however, notice when a pair of calloused hands wrapped around her neck and choked the life out of her. Her lifeless body sunk deeper into the tub as the man stood, blankly staring into her lifeless eyes.

It was her fault, really.

(565 words)