Trinket's dark eyes scanned over the wriggling fish. Wriggling because it was still trying to win the game. Slimy, scaly, but still alive.
She took it in her hands. It slipped out almost immediately. She tried to pick it up again, but her tiny hands had trouble gripping the wet, wiggling fish.
She frowned down at the fish as it squirmed on the sand.
Then she stamped her foot down on it, holding it down.
She crouched down, watching the fish wriggle under her foot. Its gills flapped desperately, searching for water that wasn't there. She tilted her head, watching the rapid movement of the gills, and the way the fish's mouth opened and shut, its eyes wide and unblinking, like her own.
She reached down and grabbed it near the neck, as the merfolk had done. She tried to mimic the movement, the snapping of the fish's neck, but her small hands lacked the strength.
She frowned more, her head tilting to the other side. She crouched silently, not making a sound.
She glanced to the side, spotting a seashell. She reached her hand out, and the shell quivered, then rose up on its side and rolled towards her like a wheel. She took it in one hand, running her other finger across the edge. Rough, but not sharp.
She looked back down at the fish. She stared for a long moment into its empty eyes as it gasped through its gills.
Then she slammed the edge of the shell down on the fish's neck.
She brought the shell up and slammed it down again. Then again. And again.
Blood splattered her face. It ran down her smooth, porcelain skin. A few drops of blood touched her lips. Salty. Surprising.
She stood up. The fish wasn't wiggling anymore.
She dropped the shell, looking up at the merfolk.
"I win," she said.
She took it in her hands. It slipped out almost immediately. She tried to pick it up again, but her tiny hands had trouble gripping the wet, wiggling fish.
She frowned down at the fish as it squirmed on the sand.
Then she stamped her foot down on it, holding it down.
She crouched down, watching the fish wriggle under her foot. Its gills flapped desperately, searching for water that wasn't there. She tilted her head, watching the rapid movement of the gills, and the way the fish's mouth opened and shut, its eyes wide and unblinking, like her own.
She reached down and grabbed it near the neck, as the merfolk had done. She tried to mimic the movement, the snapping of the fish's neck, but her small hands lacked the strength.
She frowned more, her head tilting to the other side. She crouched silently, not making a sound.
She glanced to the side, spotting a seashell. She reached her hand out, and the shell quivered, then rose up on its side and rolled towards her like a wheel. She took it in one hand, running her other finger across the edge. Rough, but not sharp.
She looked back down at the fish. She stared for a long moment into its empty eyes as it gasped through its gills.
Then she slammed the edge of the shell down on the fish's neck.
She brought the shell up and slammed it down again. Then again. And again.
Blood splattered her face. It ran down her smooth, porcelain skin. A few drops of blood touched her lips. Salty. Surprising.
She stood up. The fish wasn't wiggling anymore.
She dropped the shell, looking up at the merfolk.
"I win," she said.
