I didn’t mug a mermaid. It was already empty when I found it discarded amongst a tangle of seaweed on the river beach looking more like a fishing float than anything of value. Algal blotches spotted its sides like a paving slab in need of a power hose and a couple of strands of sea lettuce hung limply off its broken purse strings. But I still picked it up. After all, any purse, lost, stolen, wilfully abandoned, might still be identifiable. Even a mermaid’s purse. Continue reading
That is what it looked like: a bird’s foot. A triangle almost the same colour as the path on which it lay, with an appendage at the apex that could have been the ankle, or the leg.
It should belong to a seagull, a foot of that shape. It is nature’s paddle, flesh instead of toes to propel its owner through the waves. Continue reading