This is based off of The Armless Maiden, which is one of my favourite fairy tales. I do wan to come back to this and polish it at some point (and think of a better title).
Fish
I wasn’t created with a real reason.
In fact, I was born an ordinary lake fish,
with a simple fishy brain
and eyes that only saw
an underwater world.
I was hours old when I was
scooped from my home,
the comforting waters
replaced with invisible barriers.
Beyond my limited roaming space
was a shapeless world of confusing colours.
Ripples of disturbance indicated
the arrival of flaky food
that floated on the surface,
forcing me to bob and
taste dangerous air in order
to gain the substance to live.
I understood, much later, the events
that happened to me.
At the time it was only pain
and confusion and a transformation
I didn’t understand or want.
I longed for death without knowing
what death was.
But luckily, that wasn’t to be my story.
My capturer was a witch,
neither good nor bad,
but lonely and curious,
living in a cottage near the lake
after society became too taxing
for her to be part of.
She was talented with growing
and healing, but had
few customers to distract her.
I became her hobby.
She mixed substances and enchanted liquid,
adding a few drops into my home
each day, like adjusting
my body to poison.
My happy absent-minded movements
ended as my nerves screamed
with every twitch.
My mind and vision expanded
beyond what my species should,
registering the world beyond
and interpreting the witch’s sound
into actual sense.
She would read aloud,
at first just to mask the emptiness,
but as she noticed my focused attention
she directed her words to me,
her tone more energetic,
her material more educational,
her life containing a purpose.
Soon my body grew too big to stay
in my restricting habitat.
My scales were pale green tipped with silver.
My eyes amber and knowing,
my demeaner appearing wise with
two long whiskers near my mouth.
The witch returned me to the lake,
trusting I was too changed
to ignore her.
Each day she’d visit and rub
concoctions onto my scales,
while reading or delivering her own lectures.
After a year I was the size of a cat,
where her ointments changed into magic spells,
bathing me in warm light that soothed
and awoke my new potential.
Can you hear me? I tried speaking one day,
unable to form vocal words but
directing the thought to her.
Her startled stuttering spoke of my success.
From her mind I finally learned her name,
Anya, and with this discovery she
finally gave me one, Galina,
because I calmed her with my presence
in a way human company never had.
Many more years passed
with her pouring magic into me,
until one day I left my physical body behind
without even noticing,
taking my place as the spirit of the lake.
Her magic no longer affected me;
I was beyond her level now.
Our friendship continued until the
day she stopped breathing,
peacefully while at the lake’s side.
With the stronger resident’s help
we submerged her body, allowing
others to feast and return her
healing and growing nature to the earth.
Many lifetimes passed,
her cottage discovered and claimed by others.
Some would talk to or worship me,
others would avoid me entirely.
But no one needed me.
They lived simple lives
and didn’t need the help
of a lake spirit to fix it.
Until her, or so I thought.
The cottage was occupied by an old woodcutter,
alone in widowhood, who acknowledged
me but was too respectful to approach often.
The woman was young, but already a mother,
the baby strapped to her back
as she bent at the lake’s edge.
Her feet were bare, her clothes
a plain brown woollen shift,
and she had no arms,
just useless stubs too small
to grasp any kind of item.
Desperate thirst drove her to try
lap up the lake water like a dog.
I felt the disturbance as the baby
slipped from her back into my domain.
She followed immediately,
a mother’s instinct driving her to
both their deaths.
Finally, I could be of use.
As the spirit of this lake, I would save you if you wish.
Or I can save your child. You must choose.
Choices had always been essential
in Anya’s tales, and so I offered one.
Perhaps the woman would remain
from grief, and I’d have a friend,
or the baby would be raised by the lake’s residents,
becoming our own.
In the water she tried to scream her words,
but her thoughts were clear enough
that sound wasn’t needed.
‘My arms! Give me hands and I will save us both!’
Her determination shocked me,
this mutilated creature still so defiant of fate,
resenting her own helplessness and only
longing for essential limbs
her other kind took for granted.
Her past flashed through my mind.
An evil sister-in-law who tricked
her own husband into chopping his sister’s arms off.
A prince who married her when he
saw someone who’d depend on him forever.
In-laws who sent her away to die
in the woods because a letter deceived them.
And still she only asked for arms.
Around her I formed a whirlpool,
spinning her around in water rich with healing magic.
Small phantom fish rubbed against her stubs,
dissipating as her flesh began to form.
As soon as her hands were her own again
she grabbed her baby and swan upwards
towards life.
She stayed at the lake’s edge,
holding her son for the first time,
crying in delight at what
other parents took for granted.
And I understood how fierce
an emotion love could be.
In the morning she called out a thank you,
that would not do.
There is no need for thanks.
It is your own courage that reached out
and took back what was once severed from you.
Grafted again to the old stock
the new tree bears fruit.
Go in peace.
She stayed with the old woodcutter,
tending to housework and her son,
waiting for her husband to come,
but content with her life if he didn’t.
She’d visit me and ask my story,
ponder my lonely existence
and explain human needs and dreams to me.
‘If I ever return to the palace,
I will let those in need know of you,
and you can give them a chance
like you did me.’
The prince found her once he returned from war,
shy in the presence of the confident lady
she could now be.
‘Come home, Marion,’ he pleaded,
his love and devotion to her genuine.
‘Not yet,’ she said, with a sad smile
I could now understand.
‘When I first came to you, I was a
creature of the woods.
You pitied me and gave me shelter.
But now I am a woman
and you must court me as a woman.’
The courting period wasn’t long
and I missed her when she left,
returning to her old but new life.
As promised, many people began to visit,
eager to meet me and tell their stories,
to earn a blessing from the lake spirit.
I hear many tales and help many people,
but none are as courageous or memorable as her.
Scribbled Thoughts 