Drabble: First Person Account – by Grey Harlowe

by specklit

They are always about: dark blobs on the blue ceiling of my home. Their boats swirl past, the wooden bellies an endless annoyance. I can feel them up there, their prying eyes on the lookout. It has been a decade now, since anyone last caught sight of me.

She was a small one, no larger than my youngest offspring. I knew there was no harm in showing off, the tiny set are rarely believed. I let her see my fins, my tail, the shimmer of the water on my curves.

She said nothing. I knew she would keep my secret.

Author’s Note: I kind of like the idea of a lake monster who knows the local tourist industry is hunting for pics or video of it, and toys with them instead of cooperating.


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