Blind Allie 4:2

“Oh God. Esmeralda had a dagger. I have to finish that book.”

The bottle of Blue Nun nearly emptied, Allie lay back on the chaise lounge and reflected next on the last several months of her life. She proceeded contemplatively through the most pitiful chapters, from her arousing nightmare of just under an hour ago, through the humiliating publication of her two cathedral drawings, to the equally humiliating night on stage as Julie La Verne in a tub. Her reflections eventually led her back to where her secret evolving narrative had begun–on that pathetic bed of ice between the seafood and legume stands at the market.

She never really thought much about piecing together the story of her life prior to that day her parents had rescued her or about finding her biological merfolk. With over 30,000 species of bony fishes in her class (Actinopterygii, from the Greek πτέρυξ [ptérux ‘wing, fins’]), she wouldn’t even know where to start. Besides, what if she discovered something she didn’t want to know, like she’s descended from a school of blobfish? She was nothing but bones above the waist, so there was little way of knowing anything about her origins without consulting an expert. If it turned out that she herself was part blobfish, her dreaded transformation into the Quasimodo of her generation would be complete.

But something deep inside her–not in her inguinal area, which had already had enough stimulation that evening, but somewhere else–was telling her that the time had come to trace her ancestry. She leapt off the chaise using the full force of her tail and made her way back to her bedroom with a plan. First, she’d see an ichthyologist. Then, she’d talk to her priest.