peculiar fish [kylo ren]
“Who are you?”
“I'm the storm beneath the sea.”
He sounds serious, you think, but can't be. No, he looks like any other boy (not that you've seen many your age lately). Wet strands of hair so dark it gleams like diamonds overcome by blackness and slick stick to his face and neck. You note, with a peculiar nonchalance, that his legs seem to have fused together to form a tail the color of the charcoal the artists sketch the old church with.
“What a strange fish,” you murmur, hiking up your skirt to roll down your socks. You don't look at him again until your feet are dangling off of the dock.
The sun beats down on your exposed neck and arms, warming your thighs. Occasional breezes cool your skin, but mostly carry the heat. You should be praying right now with your parents at church, but you can't be bothered to sit in a stuffy old building until the old pews leave you backside sore as the old preacher drones on and on about eternal damnation and the necessity of prayer with the war peaking. Alas, you're here on the dock with a fish who's also a man, a merman.
“I'm not a fish,” the man hisses.
“And the pigeon says it isn't a bird,” you muse.
“I'm Kylo Ren.”
“That isn't a real name.”
Kylo is handsome even with that insolent air about him. He pouts pink, glistening lips, and seems to consider you.
“You aren't real,” you say, content to reduce the merman to little more than a mirage not unusual for such a hot evening. Tomorrow, you'll return and he'll be gone.