I do not know what will become of this, but I feel that this tale must be written down, to record a momentous occasion for all of history, should that be so destined.
I have had contact with a mermaid, a being half fish and half human from the stories of the ancient pagans. She appeared as in the stories, unclothed and unashamed of her state. Yet instead of seducing me, she laughed at me, covering her mouth with a tattooed hand. Her entire arms were tattooed in fact, showing scenes of a huge fish and bubbles, and of the monster fish that are black and white.
She asked me if it were true, what the sailors said about the brown clothed men. When I asked her what they had said, she began spouting wild tales of miracles and monstrous deeds. I must admit that I was angered by what these sailors had said, and I began to tell her the truth, as if I was speaking to a human who had not yet seen His light. The mermaid rested herself on a rock, watching me as I spoke. Her position was most indecent, but the innocent curiosity in her eyes allowed me to ignore her undressed state.
When I finished, she laughed again. This angered me, and I demanded to know why she laughed.
"Land walkers now do not know who the other land walkers are," was all she said. "They were so much more interesting then than now."
"Now?" I asked, feeling it was my turn to ask the questions. I wanted to know more about these creatures.
"We live for three hundred turns of the land walkers' seasons," she answered, sounding annoyed at having to repeat the obvious. "When I was still young, land walkers knew so much," she said, spreading her arms here for emphasis. "But know, know this much," bringing her hands together a mere finger's width apart. "Not so interesting now."
I must confess to a great irritation here, and I glared at the mermaid for a short time. She just watched me, smiling in amusement and twirling her hair around a webbed finger to pass the time.
Bringing myself together, I asked what her arms were painted with. Holding them out, she smiled, saying that I had asked a good question, like the land walkers of old. It was not the story that her arms were painted with, but what she said after the story that amazed me. But for posterity, the story shall be recorded here as well.
The big fish with the bubbles coming out of its mouth was the Father Fish, the sun's creator. From his mouth came the ocean, spilling out across the world. He then sent bubbles of light up, to light the waters above. The largest became the sun and the next the moon. The rest were the stars. The monster fish on her other arm show the creation of the land. There was a huge fight between those who wished to remain in the water and between those who wanted to remove it completely, to destroy the world that they knew. A huge battle ensued, and large pieces of rock and sand were driven up to the surface of the water, creating the land. Those who wished to remove the water were trapped on the newly formed land. The monster fish then were set up as guards, to keep the land dwellers from completing what they had started.
When she had finished the tale, she had shrugged, saying that she bore the tattoos so that her people would remember what had once been believed. "It is not good to loose what once was so strong in the mind," she had told me sternly, reprimanding me for the loss of pagan ways of all things! Stung, I asked what was now believed.
"Land walker's God," came the answer, stunning me. She laughed at my surprise, and then told me of the sailors' tales of the brown robed land walkers and of hearing the speeches of monks! I was amazed to hear the words of God coming from a creature that was not even fully human. It humbled me, for here was a soul who was closer to Him than I could ever hope to be. She was as innocent as Adam and Eve had been, and she still resided in her Eden, having yet to be driven out.
Now I must confess of keeping a secret form my brother monks, for I did not want them to see her and attack this soul, thinking to save me. I heard the abbot and two others walking towards me, and I told the mermaid to leave, to swim away as fast she could. When she looked at me, confused, I confessed that I did not know how my brother monks would act upon seeing her. Nodding, she swam away after a hasty goodbye. When the abbot and his companions reached me, they saw me merely staring out to sea. I then lied, saying I had been contemplating the sea before me, trying to still my soul. I am afraid that I will not be able to atone for this sin, for I dare not confess it to any of my brother monks. I will not put another soul in harm's way, even at the cost of my own. I can only hope that this confession of paper will suffice.