The Girl of the Gulf

She stood up from the water one August afternoon and walked naked onto the beach at the Eighteen Palms Resort.

Two lifeguards ran toward her. “Little girl, come this way!”

Then they saw her antlers weren’t a child’s tiara but real coral growing from her head. They stopped short.

“What the…”

Fish swam in her translucent body. A jellyfish drifted beneath her ribs.

The lifeguards backed away.

Within minutes, hundreds of people had gathered around her, cell phones held aloft. Recording. Streaming. 

She seemed bored, almost impatient, like she had someplace better to be.

Four policemen pushed through the crowd to assert control, but the sight of the girl stopped them. They settled for keeping everyone back.

People pointed and whispered as a news helicopter chuck-chuck-chucked above them. But a gull eating a French fry seemed to interest her more.

She stopped walking and stood staring inland.

Her mouth opened, as if to speak. The crowd fell silent and held its breath.

For several seconds she stood, breathing. The only sounds were the cries of gulls and the waves breaking behind her.

Then her body convulsed.

She doubled over and puked a black torrent onto the sand.

Crude oil.

It came in heaving, choking gushes, splattering her feet and surging inland across the beach.

The crowd screamed and stumbled backward.

The girl kept vomiting until a black pool several feet wide lay in the sand.

Then she stopped and straightened up, still bored. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked down at the oil.

Then she turned back toward the Gulf.

Nobody moved as she walked back into the water. Soon all that remained was the oil steaming in the sand and a line of tiny webbed footprints.

Thank you for your Surreal Saturday prompts, Alicia. This was a fun one!