*She saved a Captured Mermaid at the Riger. 7 days Later, This happened...*
The mermaid tied to the tree lifted her hand, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Please help me… they will sell me,” she whispered, voice shaking like dry leaves.
Amanda’s knees turned to water; every part of her said run.
But those wide, sorrowful eyes held her still.
Hunters’ laughter drifted closer—boots crunching the undergrowth.
One heartbeat. One breath.
Amanda balanced a clay pot on her head and walked toward the river before sunrise. The cool mist touched her cheeks, and the dew on the grass wet her bare feet. She chose this hour because the path was quiet—no gossiping neighbours, no children splashing water, just birds waking up and frogs croaking in the bush. Amanda was a widow, living in a one‑room mud hut at the edge of Ajoa Village. She had two children, Dara and Kemi, and not enough money to feed them well. Each morning she fetched water, pounded cassava, and prayed the roof would not leak when the heavy rains came.
That morning felt like any other until she filled her pot, lifted it onto her head, and decided to take the shorter bush track home. Halfway along the narrow path, she heard deep voices and loud laughter. Three hunters leaned against a mango tree, rifles on their shoulders, leather bags full of traps hanging at their sides. Amanda greeted them politely, “Good morning,” and kept walking, but their talk floated after her like smoke.
“Ah, we are rich now,” one hunter bragged. “I still can’t believe we caught that captured mermaid near the river last night.”
Another slapped his thigh. “The big man in the city will pay anything for her. Mermaid scales bring plenty money.”
Amanda’s heart jumped. A mermaid? Caught by hunters? She hurried on, but their words stuck in her ears. She reached a fork in the path and slipped behind the tall bamboo, hoping to avoid the men completely. As she stepped through the grass, a small cry reached her—weak, shaky, and full of fear.
“Help… please… someone help me…”
Amanda froze, set her heavy pot on the ground, and listened. The cry came again. She moved toward a bunch of bamboo shoots and peeked through the green stems.
A young woman—no, not a woman, something else—was tied to a thick tree trunk. Her wrists were wrapped with rough rope, her long wet hair stuck to her cheeks, and tears rolled down her face. But what made Amanda gasp was the silver tail where legs should be. Scales shone faintly even in the dim light. The hunters had spoken true: a real mermaid, captured, helpless.
“Please,” the mermaid whispered, lifting a trembling hand. “They will come back. They will sell me. Help me.”
Amanda’s first thought was to run. Every village story warned that mermaids lured people to watery graves. But the creature before her did not look dangerous; she looked frightened. Amanda looked around—no hunters in sight. Yet the rope at the mermaid’s tail and wrists was thick and tight, tied by men who knew knots.
“Are… are you real?” Amanda asked, voice small.
“Yes,” the mermaid breathed. “My name is Lira. Let me go.”
Amanda’s legs shook. She heard distant footsteps—maybe hunters returning. She stepped closer and touched the rope. The knot scraped her fingers, and fear pounded in her chest. Should she risk her life for a being she didn’t understand? Lira’s eyes, dark and full of pleading, answered her. Amanda pulled at the knot. It barely moved. She worked faster, nails digging, sweat starting to bead on her forehead.
Voices drifted nearer. “Let’s check on the catch,” a hunter said.
Full story here
https://youtu.be/AFWfQCymels
The mermaid tied to the tree lifted her hand, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Please help me… they will sell me,” she whispered, voice shaking like dry leaves.
Amanda’s knees turned to water; every part of her said run.
But those wide, sorrowful eyes held her still.
Hunters’ laughter drifted closer—boots crunching the undergrowth.
One heartbeat. One breath.
Amanda balanced a clay pot on her head and walked toward the river before sunrise. The cool mist touched her cheeks, and the dew on the grass wet her bare feet. She chose this hour because the path was quiet—no gossiping neighbours, no children splashing water, just birds waking up and frogs croaking in the bush. Amanda was a widow, living in a one‑room mud hut at the edge of Ajoa Village. She had two children, Dara and Kemi, and not enough money to feed them well. Each morning she fetched water, pounded cassava, and prayed the roof would not leak when the heavy rains came.
That morning felt like any other until she filled her pot, lifted it onto her head, and decided to take the shorter bush track home. Halfway along the narrow path, she heard deep voices and loud laughter. Three hunters leaned against a mango tree, rifles on their shoulders, leather bags full of traps hanging at their sides. Amanda greeted them politely, “Good morning,” and kept walking, but their talk floated after her like smoke.
“Ah, we are rich now,” one hunter bragged. “I still can’t believe we caught that captured mermaid near the river last night.”
Another slapped his thigh. “The big man in the city will pay anything for her. Mermaid scales bring plenty money.”
Amanda’s heart jumped. A mermaid? Caught by hunters? She hurried on, but their words stuck in her ears. She reached a fork in the path and slipped behind the tall bamboo, hoping to avoid the men completely. As she stepped through the grass, a small cry reached her—weak, shaky, and full of fear.
“Help… please… someone help me…”
Amanda froze, set her heavy pot on the ground, and listened. The cry came again. She moved toward a bunch of bamboo shoots and peeked through the green stems.
A young woman—no, not a woman, something else—was tied to a thick tree trunk. Her wrists were wrapped with rough rope, her long wet hair stuck to her cheeks, and tears rolled down her face. But what made Amanda gasp was the silver tail where legs should be. Scales shone faintly even in the dim light. The hunters had spoken true: a real mermaid, captured, helpless.
“Please,” the mermaid whispered, lifting a trembling hand. “They will come back. They will sell me. Help me.”
Amanda’s first thought was to run. Every village story warned that mermaids lured people to watery graves. But the creature before her did not look dangerous; she looked frightened. Amanda looked around—no hunters in sight. Yet the rope at the mermaid’s tail and wrists was thick and tight, tied by men who knew knots.
“Are… are you real?” Amanda asked, voice small.
“Yes,” the mermaid breathed. “My name is Lira. Let me go.”
Amanda’s legs shook. She heard distant footsteps—maybe hunters returning. She stepped closer and touched the rope. The knot scraped her fingers, and fear pounded in her chest. Should she risk her life for a being she didn’t understand? Lira’s eyes, dark and full of pleading, answered her. Amanda pulled at the knot. It barely moved. She worked faster, nails digging, sweat starting to bead on her forehead.
Voices drifted nearer. “Let’s check on the catch,” a hunter said.
Full story here
https://youtu.be/AFWfQCymels
*She saved a Captured Mermaid at the Riger. 7 days Later, This happened...*
The mermaid tied to the tree lifted her hand, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Please help me… they will sell me,” she whispered, voice shaking like dry leaves.
Amanda’s knees turned to water; every part of her said run.
But those wide, sorrowful eyes held her still.
Hunters’ laughter drifted closer—boots crunching the undergrowth.
One heartbeat. One breath.
Amanda balanced a clay pot on her head and walked toward the river before sunrise. The cool mist touched her cheeks, and the dew on the grass wet her bare feet. She chose this hour because the path was quiet—no gossiping neighbours, no children splashing water, just birds waking up and frogs croaking in the bush. Amanda was a widow, living in a one‑room mud hut at the edge of Ajoa Village. She had two children, Dara and Kemi, and not enough money to feed them well. Each morning she fetched water, pounded cassava, and prayed the roof would not leak when the heavy rains came.
That morning felt like any other until she filled her pot, lifted it onto her head, and decided to take the shorter bush track home. Halfway along the narrow path, she heard deep voices and loud laughter. Three hunters leaned against a mango tree, rifles on their shoulders, leather bags full of traps hanging at their sides. Amanda greeted them politely, “Good morning,” and kept walking, but their talk floated after her like smoke.
“Ah, we are rich now,” one hunter bragged. “I still can’t believe we caught that captured mermaid near the river last night.”
Another slapped his thigh. “The big man in the city will pay anything for her. Mermaid scales bring plenty money.”
Amanda’s heart jumped. A mermaid? Caught by hunters? She hurried on, but their words stuck in her ears. She reached a fork in the path and slipped behind the tall bamboo, hoping to avoid the men completely. As she stepped through the grass, a small cry reached her—weak, shaky, and full of fear.
“Help… please… someone help me…”
Amanda froze, set her heavy pot on the ground, and listened. The cry came again. She moved toward a bunch of bamboo shoots and peeked through the green stems.
A young woman—no, not a woman, something else—was tied to a thick tree trunk. Her wrists were wrapped with rough rope, her long wet hair stuck to her cheeks, and tears rolled down her face. But what made Amanda gasp was the silver tail where legs should be. Scales shone faintly even in the dim light. The hunters had spoken true: a real mermaid, captured, helpless.
“Please,” the mermaid whispered, lifting a trembling hand. “They will come back. They will sell me. Help me.”
Amanda’s first thought was to run. Every village story warned that mermaids lured people to watery graves. But the creature before her did not look dangerous; she looked frightened. Amanda looked around—no hunters in sight. Yet the rope at the mermaid’s tail and wrists was thick and tight, tied by men who knew knots.
“Are… are you real?” Amanda asked, voice small.
“Yes,” the mermaid breathed. “My name is Lira. Let me go.”
Amanda’s legs shook. She heard distant footsteps—maybe hunters returning. She stepped closer and touched the rope. The knot scraped her fingers, and fear pounded in her chest. Should she risk her life for a being she didn’t understand? Lira’s eyes, dark and full of pleading, answered her. Amanda pulled at the knot. It barely moved. She worked faster, nails digging, sweat starting to bead on her forehead.
Voices drifted nearer. “Let’s check on the catch,” a hunter said.
Full story here 👇
https://youtu.be/AFWfQCymels
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