My stomach rumbled and I was reminded of the fact that, although I could breathe easily now, eating still was something I had to do. Perhaps I could order something to go? Tuna maybe? I mused as I wondered if my diet would change as much as my body had. A thought was nagging at the back of my brain, calling for attention. I ignored it for a while as I listed different kinds of seafood I might enjoy. The little voice continued on and on until I let it speak its mind.
How would I open the door?
I paused and shivered at the thought of having to crawl to the door
How would I call?
My euphoric bubble popped. I’d have to go get my phone. The phone I’d left by the pool. I felt a whine build in my chest. I didn’t want to go. Why couldn’t I have legs? Why didn’t it work like fairytales where mermaids get legs when they’re out of water. You know, the voice whispered, in the original story, the little mermaid felt as if a thousand swords cut her soles when she walked. I let my head slide back underwater, agonizing over my situation. I knew I had to do it. I knew I had to go back out there and get my phone. The memory alone made me want to crawl into my bed and wrap myselves in my covers. You can’t, murmured the little voice. I groaned.
I had to do it.
Shit.