I do not have shit
Often my hands do not move
I think I am numb
Six weeks at sea. Nothing out of the ordinary until the night of the 16th. We were pulling in the nets for the night and all seemed normal. That was until we pulled up the last net. There we found a cinnamon headed mermaid tangled in the weaving. Her scales shone in the moonlight like chromium, black and oily looking. We released her from the net and gave her the warmest reception we could eek out from our meager stash. The lonely crew showered her in gifts, a plethora of valueless trinkets they had horded. She reciprocated our affections with an innocent smile but quickly broke the jovial mood of the occasion with ominous words. This mystical creature stated she came as conveyor of bad news. The ship, she asserted, was headed towards a vortex in the sea and she feared she arrived too late.
At that moment a blast rang out from the ship’s horn. The crew ran around wildly in a bedlam of frightened masculinity. The mermaid had indeed warned us too late. Our vessel was caught in the vortex and I clung to a railing as I looked into the void. At the pivotal moment of complete loss, I felt an arm around my waist. Swallowed by the sea, I soon loss consciousness. I awoke on the beach outside this town, thankful to a mermaid.
Moral: Even wonderful things can be bad omens.