She held her pearls close to her heart.
The last treasure of a once deep blue ocean.
They were the last things that shimmered in this world.
With little strength left, she heaved herself onto a rock, escaping the deadly waters of the sea, taking in the ruins of a city.
It was a strange and quiet place.
There used to be so many of them.
It has turned into a liminal space.
They lived in cities, in towers touching the sky.
The authors who wrote the end of the world into being.
Now, they are all gone.
Their stories written.
Their plots fulfilled.
Gone and faded, like the mermaid's world, before they destroyed their own.
If they had only known how to save the mermaid's world, they might have saved themselves.
Was it a cruel joke, or was it all just meant to happen.
Like a wave reaching for the beach, with no other option but to break.
The mermaid wanted to laugh, but there was no strength left inside her.
Her inner ocean was spent.
Her waters were acidic.
The air was poison.
Her once shiny scales were covered in oil.
It was the last page of the last chapter of a book the authors in the now crumbling towers wrote long ago.
Their language was numbers on screens and numbers on paper.
Their voices spoke of profit and growth and increase.
They corrupted the colours of the world, which the mermaid held so dear.
Now, there were only four colours left in this dying world.
Grey, dust, and ruins.
White, skulls, and bones.
Red, rotting flesh, and dripping blood.
Yellow, her pearls shimmering in the scorching sun.
Once giver of life.
She still held them close to her heart.
Even the mermaid's eyes have gone pale.
She doesn't remember their colour.
She sighed, relieved.
Breathing out one last time.
It was finally over.
Her final heartbeat released the pearls.
They scattered all around her beautiful and rotting body.
There was no one left to see it.
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