Ariel

I remember so well the day everything began. I was a child, but five years old, when I and my nursemaid crossed the path of an old storyteller on one of our evening swims. After begging her to let sit and listen to him with the other merchildren, and her giving her consent, I raced to his feet just as he began his story.
It was about two brothers coming from the air to the earth. The elder brother immediately began farming the land, building houses and towns, and catching animals for his supper. But the younger fell in love with the sea, and ran away one night to dive into the ocean waters, not knowing the lack of oxygen would kill him. So he died, but in his death, he grew a beautiful long tail and a white, flowing beard. And became the first of the merfolk. So, many centuries later, we were born, with tails just like his and beautiful hair floating around our heads like crowns.
The other children were immediately taken home at the end of the tale, for it was getting late. But not I. I stayed where I sat and asked every question that came to my mind about the landfolk – humans, he said. They walked on two legs instead of swimming with tails, but were mostly like us in every other way, except they didn’t know we existed. I found that strange.
“Do they not sit on the beach and watch us, as we do them?” I asked the man.
He shook his head, replying, “We live too far down in the ocean for them to see anything, and besides, they don’t know how to SEE.” This confused me even more, but I held back the rest of my questions, as I could see he was growing tired. Then, jokingly, he asked, “And what do I get in return, darling Princess Ariel? I hear you have a voice from the heavens, as the rumors go.”
I gave him a bright, childish smile, and sang. Tumbling forth came the words of a lullaby my mother sang to me before she died, when I was a baby. The sweet soprano was, indeed, savored by everyone who heard it, and I got praised often for the beautiful songs I often made up.
At the end of the song, unfortunately, my nursemaid lead me home, claiming it was way past my bedtime. I kissed the storyteller on the cheek and promised to come again for another story. And so I did, as often as the nurse would allow me, as he told of far-off places, handsome princes, dangerous sea-monsters, and magical adventures. My favorite stories always remained those of the strange, two-footed humans.