Out Of The Murky Water

Melina Whitcomb couldn't believe her luck, mostly because she couldn't tell if this was good or bad luck. Being included in a Will & Testament is usually a good thing, but her particular inheritance turned out to be a creature. The last thing she needed was another mouth to feed, and so she would have gladly said no to this gift... were it not for her dreams.

It had been the same for the last month or two: she was slowly sinking into dark murky waters, and she could see the midday sun growing distant and faded as she felt her lungs flooded and her consciousness drifting away. And then, out of nowhere, a small, bright pink presence swooped in, took hold of her fingertip and pulled her back up, and the glare of the sun above her blinded her, which is when she invariably woke up. The creature that saved her in the dream was, as far as Melina could tell, the very same staring back at her from the fish tank resting on her lap.

The subway did another stop: two more before she had to get off. A man of dark skin and very straight, salt-and-pepper hair came on the train and sat next to her. Upon seeing the creature, he smiled and nodded at her. "Axolotl," he said, as if that explained everything. Melina hugged the tank and looked away. Nigh 60 years of awkwardness don't go away just like that.

Raucous laughter met her as she pushed the door of the hair salon, making the bell ring. Four faces whirled over from a plastic table at the far end, and Melina forced her feet to keep moving under the weight of those four gazes. One of the faces broke into a smile.

"Melina, child! Have you eaten yet?"

"No, Auntie. I haven't."

"Why, always the same with you. Sit, sit! There's bagels on the table. Just don't drink the water! It's vodka."

Melina mumbled her thanks —she was a notorious lightweight when it came to alcohol—, and pressed on towards the stairs. Aunt Martha had never said anything against pets in the apartment, but Melina was thankful to dodge any prying questions.

And the axolotl was a particularly easy one, she learned after a few minutes of research online. Aside from some stringent requirements on water temperature and diet, all she had to do is leave the creature alone.

The pile of mail for the day awaited next to her favorite chair, exactly where she had left it before heading out to the reading of the Will & Testament. Bill, bill, bill. She owed it to Aunt Martha that none of these ever said "Rent Due".

The one at the bottom was the most stressful one. 'Arthur Lehrman, Esq.', said the stylized text on the top left corner. Leaning back, she shut her eyes, her head spinning. She tried to control her breathing, but the anxiety attack wouldn't relent.

And that's when she felt it: A faint, but discernible weight on the top of her head. Slowly reaching up, she felt contact on slimy, slippery skin. The divorce lawyer's letter went flying as Melina sprung to her feet with a small startled cry. When she felt again, however, there was no weight, nothing on her head but her own hair. A look at the calendar gave her another start: she had only two weeks to finish her design for the contest.

Being a fashionista was a goal that had proved stubbornly elusive her whole life. When she was younger, there were other priorities. Then, there was her once hopeful marriage. And here she was now, for better or for worse, with little more than scars of abuse to show for it. With a sigh and a rub of her temples she collapsed on her chair. Like she had done the past several nights, she stared at the blank sheet. Yet again, she leaned back, shut her eyes and tried to not panic. And it happened again: the faint weight on the top of her head, the slimy feel against her hand.

For once in her life, Melina chose not to panic. She clenched her fists and kept very still. To her great surprise, the internal pressure and the panic began to subside. She stared at the page, feeling an idea forming. Taking up her pencil, she began to work.

The sun glared at her, and she started awake. It took her a couple blinks to realize that it was, in fact, the real sun that had awakened her. There was no nightmare, no disrupted sleep. And the axolotl was there, idling in its tank.

The following nights went on in similar fashion: the page grew in lines, traces, in shades and hues. The dress took form, flowy, breezy, and brightly pink. Every night she felt the familiar weight on her head. And every morning she woke up to the sun on her face, and the axolotl placidly staring at her from the tank.

Feeding time was something for her to get used to: if her literature was any indication, axolotls were wont to bite the hand that fed them. Not this guy, though. It was nothing if not placid. It took the shrimp she offered, gobbled it right up, and returned to its resting position. It had no name, for Melina could not think of one. In the end, perhaps, it was for the best.

Weeks went by. The night before the contest, her landline did something mighty unusual: it rang.

"Yes? Yes, it's almost ready... I mean, I hope so- look, it will be fine. You won't regret it. And thank you again for doing this."

Maya, her model. Maya was an ambitious twentysomething with looks worthy of a runway and little else to her credit. She was brash, entitled and, Melina would wager, deeply insecure. Both of their hopes rode on this contest. For the first time in forever, Melina had hope.

It took her three days to come back home after the contest. Her gait was wobbly, her head was nearly splitting, and her breath reeked. With a bleary smile she looked at the fish tank: it was empty. This hardly frazzled her in her current state: she was drunk, drunk with success.

The formal letter arrived two months later. A six-figure payout for a two-year collaboration. The axolotl was never seen again: it had done its part.