It was becoming more difficult every year. There were fewer large trees, more environmentalists, and Babe had been put to pasture, caring more for chewing daisies than for towing logs. Paul couldn’t blame him.
He rubbed his back, dabbing at his sweat streaked brow. These days, he removed barnacled stumps from house lots.
Paul’s bunions were killing him.
“Hey, you stupid oaf. No loafing. You have this acre to clear,” yelled the foreman, chewing his ever present licorice.
No one cares about my exploits anymore.
Retired, sipping drinks in Fiji, Paul looked out at the forest of men and smiled.
Author’s Note: Times move on, people change and so must Paul Bunyan.
Sirena sawed her tail, silvery scales like sequins coating her hand. The Novocaine dulled the pain. Still she cried, tears mixing with the bloodied water.
Marcus paced, hand over his mouth. “I don’t understand why you would do this? I thought you could have feet if you wanted.”
“I had feet. I was human.” She felt faint. Midnight was fast approaching.
But it was too late. No matter how fast she worked, the tail grew back. “Never piss off a mermaid.”
Sleek silver fishskin overtook her and Sirena changed, flipping into the water, a large tuna swimming out of sight.
Author’s Note: Mermaids always want to come onto land, but what if a human wished for mermaid fins?