The merman circles around Emmanuella while in the air as the raindrops remain frozen around him. He spreads out his fingers placing his palm upward, and the beauty beads life from his palm. Both beads open gently exposing their structures and serums within. Quickly, the beauty beads close then jump to swirling around Emmanuella. She can feel her hair unwrapping from the braided bun, an invisible brush gently brushes out her knots, and her trousers loosen evolving into a skirt. Her breasts become undone by the tape which once tied them down.
Once the beauty beads return to the merman’s palm, he circles Emmanuella observing with hard penetrating eyes. With a wave of his hands, the raindrops form a clear mirror. Emmanuella’s hair is pinned into another bun, her lashes are longer and thicker, and her face is coated with makeup with black dots at the outer corners of her eyes. For the first time ever, Emmanuella is beautiful.
With a wave of the merman’s hand, the beauty is snatched away. The raindrops reflect her normal ugly self but in her favorite trousers and a button up shirt.
“You humans are so obsessed with beauty, women how you’re all naturally beautiful.” The merman states.
“Who are you?” Emmanuella trembles.
“Did your grandparents not tell you who I am?” His words make Emmanuella’s eyes widen. How did he know about her grandparents? He gently informs her: “I am Nsuo Akoma. I am the seas, the oceans, the rainwater you drink. I am the monsoons, the whirlwinds, and the mist. I am the father of all merpeople, the protector of mermaids. And you will not fall today.”
“Wha-Why?”
“Your grandparents were kind people. They helped me once. I feel the kindness emanating from your heart. Your spirit is tethered to this ship just as it’s tethered to these.” Nsuo Akoma holds up the beauty beads, “You’re an inventor like your grandparents?”
“Yes, I am.” Emmanuella attempts to stuff her tears back behind her eyelids. It’s better not to think of them.
“Sadly, you must say goodbye to your ship.”
“But, why?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you.”
Gently, Nsuo Akoma places Emmanuella on the ship, and just as he disappears, the rain begins to pelt the ship and the balloon. The men aboard drunkenly and sleepily move around either performing the ship duties, playing dice games, or joking with friends. Emmanuella dashes down the stairs to the bottom floor and runs directly to the engine room.
The fuel gauge’s wand points to the E symbol; the gasoline tanks surrounding are sprawled out empty. Emmanuella yanks tanks down from the wall and turns over standing tanks finding absolutely no gasoline. Not even a drop. The ship’s going to plummet. As soon as the sea encases the wood, the wood will be splinters, and as for the passengers--
Emmanuella rings the bell by the door nonstop and runs to the deck; she should’ve invented a fail safe. Perhaps a floaty bottom, or a team of angels to carry the crew to safety. Emmanuella rips the sails down along with the rope.
“What are you doing? You’re going to kill us!” A crew member shouts as other crew members rush to the deck. Someone rushes below. Probably to get the commander, but Emmanuella ties as many crew members with the rope as possible. Another end is attached to her sheet made parachute.
“Emmanuella?” Kwame’s whispering voice caresses Emmanuella’s ears. She spins around and ties him with the rope avoiding his eyes, but Kwame gently grips Emmanuella’s hands stopping her.
“We’re out of fuel. We’re gonna tank.” Emmanuella pleads, “If we tie ourselves to the sheets, the sheets will billow creating a parachute allowing us a soft landing onto the sea.”
“And why were you in the engine room?” The commander’s voice creeps down the tiny hairs on Emmanuella’s back.