The ocean celebration kicks off with great fanfare. A crowd of mermaids – thousands of them – swim into the coral fields, their tails glistening in the light from the fire globes. The sun doesn’t reach us down here, but we figured out fire before humans did and even managed to find a way to keep it permanently dry while underwater.
Many mermaids seem to have brought their own stolen vinyl boat graphics along to the celebration. Some have been vandalised, with thick slashes through the flags. Others claimed the designs as their own family crests, despite the fact that they once belonged to the fishermen who hunted us for sport. We as a species recognise that there is no right or wrong way to commemorate our lost ancestors.
As for my own family, we neither steal nor covet. In fact, we tend to avoid anything human altogether. My parents have always believed that the best way to keep safe from humans is to steer clear of anything to do with them so as not to pique their suspicion, and they drilled these ideas into my brother and me from a very young age. This means that even when I’m swimming to school and I see a fishing boat decal I could easily snatch and proudly show off to my friends, I don’t swim towards the boat. I swim in the opposite direction. I hide in the swaying coral, and let the darkness obscure the whites of my eyes.
I do understand that my parents are only looking out for our safety when they force us to hide, but it doesn’t change the fact that my classmates would think I were cooler if I could capture a flag from the humans. All of the most popular students in the class have them. My best friend even has a barramundi flag of her own, all custom painted and printed. But I would never go against my parents. Not after the stories I heard growing up.