Tannic Teeth

(Writing and New Technologies Exercise Week 3)

I would wake up every morning and hope my luck would hold out on me. I had to run into the stinging surf, the hiss of bubbles around me, a spa for those how dared to live, amongst rocks jagged like a boars spine. We were looking for mermaid’s tears, each one of us rejoicing when we discovered a mature one, lovely and rounded by thunderous surf. Sometimes they were really fresh, jagged as a sawtooth, far too immature to trade with the Cirrus people. They liked the reds the oranges and blacks. But the black ones are becoming rarer and rarer something that they have a developed a great appetite for. To them it reminded them of sunsets, something they rarely if ever saw

I have always been amused by their ways. They take the mermaid’s tears, polish them and embed it along their faces. Following the contours of leathery hides blasted by years of living at high altitude on their floating cities. Our soft skin would never so much as hold a single tear, for our kingdom is the surf; the edge of the mighty oceans, for we are fluid like the waves that pommel us. But we were just on another level those Cirrus above and the ‘Others’ below. Those that exist below us, in an unsigned contract never to venture into others realms. Sometimes when we swim out too The Lens and look down we see the Underlords, harvesting their bounty but selfishly do not trade.

The higher ranking Cirrus wear the Tears in designs that us beachcombers have seen in the sky. Patterns swirl across their faces, a testament to the clouds they harvest. I have always envied their freedom, for skycombing must be liberating.