Our family worked tirelessly to chisel ever-winding shafts into the stone, though all of them are gray and full. It's hard for me to imagine a different life, lest I gaze at the water nearby and remember my youth.
I remember reading above a mermaid: A lonely maiden whose heart melted into the waves as she turned to seafoam. Years in the mine made my forget, made me grow up. But not all let go of such fairytales.
Once, I met a man with legs that should've been fins. The Siren Seeker, they called him — always caressing the sea as if it were his lover, letting the tide envelop him as he dove for treasures below.
He was collecting sun-bleached seashells by the shore as I asked:
"What do you seek in the water that you can't find on land? Shouldn't you take up proper work and settle down?"
Without looking up, he mumbled through a smile: "I seek the kiss of a mermaid — one who hides her voice in conch shells and words in bottled messages. I'll save her from turning to foam, and me from falling to gray."
