The Collected Accounts of June Bloomer

Across newspapers and television, seventeen year old June Bloomer is being shredded across the country for the cataclysmic events she caused in the quiet town of Johnston's creek. However months after the horror, in that forgettable village, June's only four friends are determined to tell the truth of June from the causalities they received first hand and nothing less.

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33. Entry fourteen:

In case you were wondering , the last two sightings of the mermaid was by Greta Movis, a six year old at the time. She was playing hide ’n’ seek, got lost, and was guided back into the right direction through the help of the mermaid, who she described as being; pretty but smells like fish. That was all they could get out of her, before the mermaid had lost her interest. Townspeople searched for days, but where you can’t find faith you can find excuses. It might have been a tourist, it might have been a neighbouring town member, it might have been someone Greta didn’t recognise at the time. By week two, it was all over. And the news spread was just written in the high school paper of the time.

Later, Greta would elaborate Leonora as something about a green tail, and use her fingers to show how her hair reached down to where her belly button should be. Greta has now grown up to be a retired accountant in Connecticut, but swears by the memory more than ever. She returns every five years or so, and has a picnic by the Creek to find her, even if she’s come with the theory that Leonora only appears when she or the other is in desperate need. Despite her firm belief, no one ever truly believed her as a child and they certainly don’t now, with the deteriorating mind of an old woman.

But if she helped out those in desperate need, why hadn't she found Michael with stingy red eyes and lungs being drained of all air? There were no other ripples in that Creek but a struggle. Maybe June had heard Greta's theory too, and that's what called her to do it.

The other to spot her was by Jeremy Johnson, the last remaining member of the original Johnson Clan. As he moved away from the village, some thirty years ago, apparently a voice beside the highway out was urging him to stay. Too distracted by the wailing, he got out his car, and searched for the epicentre of the screeches. She pleaded with him that they were family and she couldn’t just be left all alone when she was too weak and old to walk land. His therapist – the only Creek therapist who was underpaid and under a vow of secrecy she didn’t take too seriously – later spilled to the town that Jeremy had noted the voice sounds like ‘cracking, hisses of raging seas’. The therapist had said for a while that he’d believed it, but the Johnson’s owned nearly everything in the town, and as the sole manager he decided to blame the voices on stress. The Johnsons continued with their journey as planned a week later, and found their way to Atlanta. After the last sighting, they decided to launch that unsuccessful campaign starring a sultry Mrs Sommer/Leonora in the fliers; but Leonora was never found.

When people talked about Johnson, I thought he was crazy. But now, I can imagine too clearly what her voice might have sounded like. Like me, he somehow found a way to fight against whatever was trying to claw into his hesitations. He got back in his car, like I shut the door before me, and never looked back.

Unlike me, he won’t have to live with that for the rest of his life.

I think it’s nice to appreciate a myth, as long as you take the time to appreciate that once, it was real. Once, it was feared. It just shows that monsters, legends and gods don’t last. Sooner or later, there comes a science that overpowers them. There must be some limit of time that makes all fear fade, until it’s just something somewhere far in the future can be amused by. I could use the time machine to get to that time with June, I suppose.

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