Tar Filled Heart

Cyrene floated in the current, drifting effortlessly along the coral reef. She once admired it for its beautiful, diverse colours. It had teemed with life, and different types of fish spilled in and out of every crevasse, a blossoming underwater garden. The reef served as a safe haven to many—Cyrene included. It was home to a colony of mermaids, of whom she called her own. For as long as she can remember, her mother ruled as Matriarch. As Cyrene grew older, position of Matriarch was passed along to her. The mermaids were her loved ones, and the reef was a sanctuary.

As the motion of the sea brushed her hair from her eyes, Cyrene was brought back to reality. She gazed at the reef, now ashen grey. What previously teemed with life now swarmed with debris. The reef that used to dance in the current, that was so alive with creatures it was nearly a “being” of its own, now suffocated, and Cyrene suffocated with it.

She knew the underlying cause of her misery. She had seen the humans that lived above. Mermaid mothers would often tell their young about a time, long ago, when mermaids and humans shared a mischievous relationship. Often when the men came to fish, they would be captivated from afar by the beauty of the mermaids. The mermaids were playful, and the men never bothersome; they took what they needed from the ocean to feed their families, and nothing more. Together, they had a harmonious bond.

This was a story Cyrene, herself, had heard many times. As a curious youngster, she was often tempted to peer above the surface to observe them. She had heard that they were almost the same as her kind.

Her frequent misery caused Cyrene to fall helplessly into memory. Back to a time when she gained some independence, although under close watch of her mother. She was no longer a youth, yet not fully grown. One day, the weather was particularly turbulent, and the reef exceptionally alive. Cyrene sought out a field of sea grass, where she would softly lay and look up into the waves. Sometimes, as she swayed with the ocean, she would wonder if the humans had things like this on land. Was there grass for them to lay on and look at the sky? Cyrene tried to determine what was prettier; the rolling white caps above her head, or the glistening of moonlight on a clear night. She watched the boats go by; the ocean tossed them around like a child playing with a new toy.

She noticed what appeared to be a small rowboat. Unusual, as boats that size were not normally out so far. Not in this weather.

An unusual flutter caught her eye as a human boy drifted, motionless, down from the surface. From his forehead, a small trail of blood followed behind him, as he sank deeper and deeper. Soon, he would join her on the ocean floor amongst the bed of sea grass. It was as if the ocean had taken him from his boat and laid him down softly, feet from her. She studied him from top to bottom. He looked young, perhaps the same age or even younger than herself. His hair was the colour of the sand below. His skin was pale, like hers. Freckles spattered across his cheeks. He remained motionless, eyes closed, perhaps asleep? Cyrene imagined when they were open, that they were the colour of the open ocean. There was no webbing between his fingers. He must not be very good at swimming, she thought. In fact, he was missing a finger, the smallest on his left hand. So, he’s definitely not a good swimmer, Cyrene concluded. His clothes were well-loved, as if they were his only possession, worn for hours at a time on that boat. She saw the legs she had heard about so many times, and where he should have fins, Cyrene counted ten toes.

By now, the boy should have opened his eyes, but he was lifeless. Desperately, Cyrene looked left and right, but his boat was no longer visible. Cyrene knew death would be upon the boy if she did not intervene. Close by was a small islet off the coast, that when the tide was low met the white sand beach. It was a place she had been warned not to be caught in with the changing of the tides. She took the boy and swam until she found a ledge low enough to haul him above the surface. Although the waves lapped at the lower half of his body, the tide would change soon, and he would be safe. At least for a little while.

Time passed on. Cyrene grew older. As her mother grew too weak, she assumed the role as their leader. She often thought about the boy, and what became of him. When she left him, he was motionless. Maybe, when the tide changed, he awoke uninjured and waded through the shallows, back to land. Or, perhaps he had never woken up, and the ocean claimed him as its own. She had seen many humans since then. Divers that analyzed life along the reef. Snorkelers that spilled off of large boats and floated on the surface. Over time, the boats seemed to be getting larger and more powerful, and carried more and more people. Occasionally, she ventured near to the shore, and observed them on land. She was always careful to remain out of sight where she would not be noticed.

Cyrene turned her attention to a tickling on her hand—some kind of thin, shiny material. Another thoughtful gift from the humans, she thought. She had slowly noticed more and more items floating in the water that were not home to the ocean. Some would sink onto the ocean floor, some would float on the surface and disrupt the view she once adored so much. She spent day after day untangling netting from dolphins and whales, and freeing plastic rings from the necks of sea turtles. Fish were pulled from the sea at a rate that they could not replenish—they were taken to the surface in the same netting that now polluted the ocean. It was often the tools Cyrene witnessed fishermen use that were now discarded to the ocean floor. It was as if the debris had drawn the life from the reef. Now it danced around her in mockery. At night, she would listen to the cries the mermaids she cared so much for. They very well knew the danger they faced if nothing changed. They witnessed the reef dying, just as she did. She felt helpless. It was her responsibility as Matriarch to keep her colony safe, but she had never faced a monster such as this one.

Cyrene hardly noticed dusk creeping in. She had drifted along the reef, so far that she found herself at the edge. She hovered at the drop-off, and looked out into the vast open ocean. Blue faded into deeper blue, then into a black abyss. Night had come, and although she tried to rest, her thoughts kept her awake. When she managed to drift off, one dream in particular played over and over. She dreamt of the boy, of returning to the ledge where she once left him. There he would be, waiting for her. Every night in her dreams, he would meet her there to thank her for his life. In attempt to show his gratitude, he would promise to restore life to the reef.

Daylight revealed heavy rains across the ocean’s surface. Cyrene woke from her dream to the patter of raindrops above her head. She loved calm, rainy days like this, as she could swim along the shore to an opening not far away, where the river met the sea. With heavy rains, the rivers swelled. She could see more of the land, and explore the mangrove roots that thrived between the riverbed and the sea. As the reef faded, she travelled until she could see the beginnings of the roots. In the distance, a mass appeared. Above it, a fishing boat. She traversed along the mangrove roots, to where she was close enough that she recognized the mass as a cluster of fishing net. Cyrene hid within the roots, and waited. As the net moved, it turned and twisted with a dolphin in its grasp. Cyrene had torn the netting off of many creatures that had become entangled, however, for this dolphin, it was too late.

A hand plunged into the water to grip the netting. There was an empty space where the littlest finger should be. Cyrene was enraged. The life that she had saved all those years ago went on to take the lives of those around him. This dolphin was likely one of many that he would carelessly discard. The humans had been reckless for far too long, and Cyrene had reached her limit. She owed it to her mermaids, and the sea, for this to be over. Forever.

She rushed over to the boat. She grabbed the hand. Forcefully, she pulled it into the water below.

Broken hearted, Cyrene could be found every night on the ledge where she once left the boy. She no longer slept, but sang in mourning of her home, and her colony. Her songs were said to enchant sailors. Slowly, as she sang, she watched their boats run off course. Not a soul withstood her beautiful melody. She remained there, for no matter how many shipwrecks she saw, she felt nothing for those that left the hole in her heart.