Jelly
“They’re getting worse,” I croaked, rubbing the residual fear from my eyes. I groped for the double-shot coffee Nell offered. I’d had nightmares my whole life, but they’d recently become hyperintense. I was always too late, arriving at the end of the slaughter. I was swimming in an ocean of blood, dolphin cries ringing in my ears.
I shivered with a sigh as the cool breeze dried the sweat from my skin. Nell settled at the foot of my bed, squeezing my ankle. Her mouth turned down. “Your yelling was loud enough to wake the dogs. Want to talk about it?”
I frowned into my mug. “Not really.”
“Well, you’re going back home in a couple of weeks. Maybe they’ll settle down when you’re in your own bed.” She paused, tapping her toes on the wood floor, the base of her slipper slapping. “So tell me, Jelly, what’s the point of all your visits? What good does it do when you return to the reef? To make a difference, you need to be here, with the humans. They’re the ones who need help.”
I groaned. “Nell, we’ve been through this. I belong to the ocean. No one else cares for the sea life like I do. I can’t abandon them.”
The Pacific Mers, my people, lived below the East side of a swamp of pollution known as the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. We simply called it the Patch. It covered 1.6 million square kilometers, almost a million miles, and despite my best attempts, swimming for hours without a break, I hadn’t been able to find an edge.
Nell crossed her arms and scowled. “At some point, they’ll figure out you aren’t trying to get knocked up. They must be getting suspicious by now.”
The incessant ocean pollution destroyed our ability to reproduce naturally. Grappling with infertility, mermaids went to the surface to mate with human males on Procreation Missions. The humans had adapted to plastics better than we had, albeit not by much.
I scrubbed my palm over my cheeks. “Yes, I know.”
Nell was a Walker, my contact on the surface, and had lived here since the seventies, one of the first mermaids to undertake a mission. After swallowing a potion to change her tail into legs, she swam for the surface, with no support once she got there. No clothes, no money, and no clue of what to expect. It must have been terrifying. Fate intervened, and a storm consumed her, throwing her off her route.
Jack found her while deep-sea fishing. He spotted her frantically waving, naked and floundering, clinging to a buoy on a drift net. He puttered up in his boat and hauled her in, shivering and shaking. When she wouldn’t tell him why she was half-dead in the ocean, he insisted he take her to the hospital. She weighed her options in a split second. Frightened of exposing the Mers to more than one human, she told him what she was.
Jack was over the moon. He’d seen the wasteland of the ocean and wanted to help.
She made a case to our government, the Trident, that the mermaids needed support, someone familiar with the surface. They saw the benefit in her plea, granting her amnesty and the title of Walker. However, as penance, she could never again visit the reef. She could still talk to the sea life and swim like the dickens, but she’d lose her beautiful tail.
Whenever I’d visit, she’d ask me for gossip and laugh at my stories, but her eyes were never wistful. She was happy. She’d made a home for herself here.
Nell’s knee bounced as she ran over our looping argument. She wanted me to stay. I couldn’t. “Jelly, they’ll stop you from coming up. That’s after they punish you for deceiving them. You’ve been here seven times. They’ll either think you have a faulty womb, or put it together that you’re lying. You only have two weeks left of your month, and I’m not allowed to give you more transformation potion.” Nell ran a hand over her long, twisted locs, twirling the end of one through her ebony fingers. She said quietly, “Stay. You and Simmi could do so much together.”
I’d met Simmi a year ago. Today, she was in Mexico supervising a baby turtle project. The timing was terrible, but Nature had her schedule, and the eggs were due to hatch any moment. Since only one in a thousand hatchlings survived to adulthood, Simmi did all she could to help them get started, patrolling the beaches for predators, chasing off ghost crabs and birds.
I spoke in a gentle, yet firm, voice. “Nell, you’re breaking my heart. You know my position is impossible. If I had my way, I’d come here freely and help you, help Simmi, yet still go back to the reef to support the sea life.”
Nell snorted, “Don’t hold your breath, Jelly. They’ll never allow you to do that.”
A bark of laughter escaped me. “And so, here we are. As I’ve told you, until their protocols change, I’ll do what I can to come up here, but otherwise, my home is the reef.”
She hauled off my bed and slapped her hands to her ample hips. “Fine. I’ll just keep pestering you until you give in.” She grinned, and I laughed. Her face sobered. “Are you sure you want to go today?”
Caffeine lashed my tongue with a longer sip, waking me fully. I set the mug on the bedside table, combing strong fingers through my long, blue hair, airing out the back of my neck. “I need to see it, Nell. I can handle it alone.”
Nell’s dark eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “I have a weird feeling, Jelly. I don’t think you should go.”
I’d never been to the superstore. I was familiar with the small village with its farmers’ market, the refill store for soaps and nuts and rice, the dojo, the coffee shop, and, of course, the library, but never the looming monstrosity the humans frequented in droves.
Turquoise eyes rolled in my head. “Goddess, Nell, it’s fine. It’s just a store.”
Nell conceded reluctantly. “Suit yourself.”
I finished my coffee and swung my legs over the side. With my feet on the floor, I shook my head, grateful the dolphins were finally quiet. Nell rested a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Jack and I are here for you if you change your mind. We’ll help you find your feet.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Nell. I appreciate that.”
She changed the subject. “What are you doing before the store? Library or Mew?”
I rubbed my hands together. “Mew. We’re practicing roundhouse kicks today.” Nell had introduced me to Bartholomew, or Mew, to help me learn my legs. He ran the dojo in the village and trained me to fight on land. He insisted I lift weights to build my muscles, and with each return to the reef, I was leaner and meaner, wielding new skills that shocked my opponents. Mew was an expert in all things violent. I liked him.
I squeezed Nell’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll see you when I get home from the store. Maybe you can teach me how to make a pineapple upside-down cake.”
She nodded with a tight smile and left.
Mew barked, telling me to aim higher for his head, and I strained to reach my heel for his jaw. I kicked at my growing anxiety, and while sparring offered an excellent distraction, I couldn’t linger. I had to go. I washed the sweat from my skin and sighed, slipping on a sundress and tying my long hair into a messy bun. Mew walked with me down the tree-lined street. I paced at the bus stop, chewing my bottom lip. “I can join you,” Mew soothed, his voice kind. “You might want company for your first time.”
“No, I’m good. You’ve got the girls coming later.”
“I can reschedule them.” His broad face etched with concern. “It’s going to be a shock, Jelly. It’s like nothing you’ve seen before.”
“Thanks, Mew, I appreciate it, but I’ve got this, unlike the ten-year-olds learning to punch. Have fun with them. I’m sorry I’ll miss the class. I love watching them express their fury at you.”
“Okay, then,” he said. He clamped his massive hands on my shoulders, turning me toward him as the bus trundled up. His rich brown eyes were solemn as he said, “Good luck, Jelly.”
The bus hummed and bumped down the road, away from the village and into the city. I watched as the humans boarded, observing their habits and mannerisms. My jaw clenched when they whipped out plastic bottles, careful not to spill on themselves as we hit potholes large enough to compress my spine. Squat buildings, neon signs, and gridlock traffic replaced trees and vibrant green fields. So many cars idled in the sun’s blaze. The occupants fiddled on phones while sitting comfortably in their cool, climate controlled boxes.
Sweat beaded on my upper lip and slipped between my breasts, partially from the stuffiness of the bus, but mostly from anticipation. I suppressed a snarl as we paused outside the dump; the stench overpowering. Bulldozers spread the filth into ever-growing piles while cars and trucks waited to unload. Familiar plastic jugs spilled and rolled along the rot, not recycled. They could have been.
We lurched forward, the smell of exhaust replacing the garbage. I closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself. Soon, we pulled outside a building that swallowed an entire city block. People brushed past me in a hurry to get to the air conditioning. I lingered, hesitating. Outside the store, a non-profit had set up a picnic table draped with a banner emblazoned with SAVE OUR OCEANS.
Two cute and scruffy guys waved fliers and called to shoppers, who avoided their eyes as they hurried past. I stopped, curious. “What is this?” My fingers grazed over a clear ball set in a cheap black base. Inside was a small plastic turtle perched on a rod, surrounded by garishly colored coral.
The young blond with a goatee smiled. “It’s a snow globe. We’re selling them to raise money for the ocean.” He tipped his chin at me. “Go on, pick it up and shake it.”
When the turtle became obscured by tiny white specks of plastic, I dropped it with a shriek. We watched it bounce, spinning until it rested against the table leg, scratched but indestructible. I spat, “Is that a sick joke?”
He looked at me, confused, bordering on apologetic. “What? No. Everyone loves snow globes.” I stepped back, staring furiously at the row of captured turtles, forever swimming in filth. He said, “Hey, why are you so mad? It’s just a snow globe.”
I bit my cheek. The thin taste of copper hit my tongue like a balm. I muttered, “You wouldn’t get it. Here’s a twenty.”
He offered me a new one. I shook my head. “No. I don’t want that. I want nothing to do with that.” I paused. “If you’re trying to help the ocean, canvas bags or linen dishcloths would be better.” He blinked, realization blooming across his cheeks.
I walked toward the playground, jangled by the plastic pieces of the snow globe. I needed to calm myself down. Sweaty children played on slides, swings, and a jungle gym, planted on a concrete slab. A drooling baby gnawed on a bright blue ring, screaming toward a toddler who rocked on a yellow seahorse; the heavy-duty plastic faded and cracked along its face.
I watched the broken eye swing back and forth. The girl noticed my blank stare and waved at me, squealing as she resumed her play, the thick, rusted spring squeaking under her weight. I gave her a half-smile, raising my fingers in response. I willed my racing heart to settle. It was just a store, a place where humanity shopped. Nothing more.
To my left was an entrance through the garden center, manned by stacks of plastic pots of varying sizes and colors. I’d start there. I murmured aloud, “You are a Warrior. You have seen unspeakable horror. You can handle this.” I steeled myself and walked inside, bracing for the onslaught of human ignorance.
The shelves groaned with tchotchkes of gnomes hugging red and white mushrooms, and frogs smoked cigars, while fairies waved their sparkly star wands. Young plants wilted in their fabricated pots, desperate to feel cool earth on their roots. Further along, I paused at the dedicated aisle of bottles and massive containers of weed killers, insecticides, and pesticides, all decorated with skulls and crossbones. Growling at them, I stomped toward the main entrance.
As people passed through the automatic doors, cold air whooshed into the open garden center. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Out of habit, I slid my teardrop pearl pendant along its chain, comforted by the action and the rasping noise. I let it drop at my throat and fisted my hands. Swallowing, I stepped into the cold, determined to see this through.
It was worse than I’d imagined. Everywhere I looked, plastic dominated. Monuments of nestled buckets stood guard at the ends of each aisle. Flocks of people pushed overflowing carts, grabbing things without glancing at the packaging. It was chaotic, overwhelming, and I almost chickened out.
I must have looked lost or stunned. A kind older lady wearing the store’s colors asked if I needed help. I blinked at her. My voice was shaky. “I need to see the laundry jugs, please.” She pointed me in the correct direction, just four more aisles to the right. I nodded my thanks and set off. Goddess, it was freezing in here. I shook my hair free from its bun and let it fall over my back like a blanket.
I wandered down the first aisle—food, if you could call it that. Obnoxiously colored packaging held candy in combinations of sugar and artificial chemicals. Labels proudly proclaimed, “Contains 2% real juice” and “No added sugars.” I picked up a package of fish-shaped gummies and scanned the back, searching for something I’d know. I couldn’t pronounce half the words.
There were rows of drinks in plastic bottles, in hues I’d never seen in nature. Some touted energy, others promised calm, making the liquids seem almost magical. Then, the bottles of water, at least a dozen versions, stewed in their disposable plastic, shrink-wrapped tight for good measure. My blood heated. Idiocy.
I walked faster and rounded the corner, skipping the toy aisle. This section had lotions, potions, and powders, all in plastic bottles or tubes. A small bottle of sparkly blue nail polish read, ‘Try Me.’ I opened it, curious, and choked on the fumes. I twisted the top on and rubbed my nose to stop from sneezing.
Distracted, I turned the corner without thinking, trying to get the acrid taste of the nail polish out of my mouth. My breath escaped with a whimper as horror weakened my knees. A towering wall of neon-colored jugs stretched before me. The shelving loomed at least twenty feet high, and the aisle was seemingly endless. My eyes darted across the shelves; each crammed eight deep, the jugs lined up like soldiers.
“Oh, my Goddess,” I gasped. These were the exact ones I’d seen floating at home, so carelessly and callously discarded, only these were shiny and so much brighter. I crept past them as if they could bite. I barely breathed, my voice hoarse as I whispered, “There are so many.” My stomach rolled from the smell as sharp fragrances vied for my attention.
The kind shop assistant from before met me down the aisle. “Good!” she chirped, “You found it. Gosh, honey, you look a little shell-shocked. Not sure which to choose? We have them categorized. These have fresh flower smells like lavender, or apple flowers, or honeysuckle. This one here is pricier, but look what it has: rose, lychee, cedarwood, and white musk. Fancy, eh? These are citrus. Let’s see, we have lemon, orange blossom, or grapefruit. Or this one is ginger mango. Or, ooh, I like this one—crisp linen with ylang ylang and bamboo. And this one over here smells like mountain rain.”
My mind spun. What did bamboo smell like? Mountain rain? She droned on. “And those are for sports. They will overpower any funky sweat, guaranteed. Have you ever noticed how the stink clings to sportswear?”
I muttered without thinking, “Synthetic fibers trap bacteria. It reactivates with body heat, creating the smell. Natural fibers like wool or cotton won’t stink.”
“Ah! Well, learn something new every day.” She lured me along the aisle, pointing and explaining. “These here have extra bleach plus a booster to get out invisible stains.” I blinked at her. Invisible stains?
“These over here are on special. Two for one.” She winked and whispered conspiratorially, “Can never have too much laundry soap.” Her smile was too bright and forced. “What kind are you looking for, sweetheart?”
I ignored her question and gaped at the wall of jugs, my eyes scanning back and forth. My heart pounded as I imagined their future, weather-torn and deteriorating under the sun and the battering waves. My head swam. The massive space was suddenly too confined, and the artificial air was stifling.
A frazzled woman pushed past us with an enormous toy car containing two restless children. I stared at the next generation of plastic consumers. The girl chewed the foot of a female doll while the boy aimed at jugs with his pretend gun. The exhausted woman grabbed a jug, the one for invisible stains, and wordlessly plopped it on the boy’s lap. He whined. The girl swatted him with her doll, and he broke into a shrilling noise. It sounded like a dolphin in pain.
My pearl pendant pressed hard into the notch in my throat, and I struggled to breathe past the sensation. The mother yelled at the boy to hush. He smacked his sister, and she started wailing, high-pitched and keening, remarkably similar to a distressed whale. The children unwittingly performed a two-part harmony of ocean distress, and my nervous system flew out of control.
I panicked. Abort! Abort now! But my brain overwhelmed my internal survival, showing me the consequences of human ignorance. It flooded my mind with abandoned fishing nets, heaving with bloated, dead bodies. Gentle giants reduced to bones from tenacious ropes trapping their jaws shut. Strangled sea life spun through my mind next to plastic bags, bottles, and six-pack rings. I choked for breath.
The music overhead tripped into a song telling me not to worry and be happy. The pearl snapped at my heartbeat, which rocketed higher and faster. I fell into my comfort zone. Anger. I bared my teeth and glared at the fortress of plastic. I fisted and released my hands, trying to shake off the rage. The harried mother glanced at me when I growled in my throat and put pep in her step, hurriedly pushing her squalling car.
The store assistant frowned. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay? Can I get you some water, sugar?”
The music scraped against my nerves. The harsh fluorescent lights blurred my vision as the jugs shone brighter, as if backlit. The overpowering scents assaulted my nose, making me nauseous as flowers and lemons collided. “So much waste,” I gritted through clenched teeth. “What is wrong with you people? Why do you use so much plastic?” Sweat prickled my skin, sliding past my ear.
Her kind face creased with concern. “Sweetie, it’s no big deal. It’s just plastic.”
I bit on my cheek to startle myself and rein in my anger. It didn’t work. I mimicked her in a deathly tone, pacing toward the jugs with tight fists, my nails cutting into flesh. “No big deal?” My voice strained, edging with panicked laughter. “No. Big. Deal?”
I bit down again, harder, and blood poured from my cheek, staining my teeth as I snarled, “You humans. You only think of yourselves. You are reckless and selfish, needing more and more and more.”
My breath came in harsh pants, and my heart hammered my ribs. The pearl jerked on its chain, pulling hairs from my neck before it hovered and tugged away from me, straining toward the detergent. The lady’s eyes bulged like she’d seen the devil, and she spun away so fast she stumbled. Running, she yelled for assistance on aisle six.
I glowered at the jugs and hissed like a feral cat. “It’s just plastic?” My vision swam and tunneled to white, and a searing pain flared through my sternum. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t see, couldn’t… Something terrible was about to happen, and I was powerless to prevent it. The pearl had taken control. My fists were so tight they hurt.
The pearl yanked, jerking me to step forward. My heart thundered as the scream inside me built, the pressure in my body insurmountable. My arms lifted wide like a puppet, and my hands flew open. I threw my head back and roared, “This entire world is plastic!!!”
With a horrifying boom, the entire fortress of jugs detonated. Sharp fragments of plastic sliced through my skin, and noxious blue soap drenched me like a tidal wave, plastering my thin dress to my body. I swiped at my eyes, stunned at the volcanic destruction. I looked up at the flashing red light of a camera. People screamed. An alarm went off. I turned tail and fled, shrieking in my head for Nell.
