There is something about Monday mornings that makes you want to kill yourself, especially when you're on your period.

The shows you watch are not that interesting; your stomach feels like you're swallowing a pile of stones, and all the student loans you struggle to pay off won't disappear. But today, Cricket feels like her luck is about to change. She wakes up, changes her tampon, and starts her day by listening to some Paul Ngozi on her old radio. She sees Johnny waiting for the black coffee to brew inside the pot, then places two thick chocolate chip waffles inside the toaster.

A yawn escapes from Cricket's mouth. She stretches her arms and smooths the creases of her shirt and shorts. Expressing a tired yawn, Johnny pushes his unkempt hair out of his hazel eyes. He wears a brownish-green t-shirt with the words "Fuck Mondays" scrawled in white and acid-washed jeans. He scratches the crust around his eyes before greeting Cricket with a crooked smile.

As Cricket hears the waffles pop out of the toaster, she hurries to the kitchen and grabs her plate while Johnny handles the food on the stove. In the meantime, Ichabod trots down the stairs and says good morning to the duo.

"So," the cat begins. "How did you guys sleep?"

"Okay, I guess," she answers, taking the small milk jug from the fridge.

Cricket places it on the black kitchen countertop and unscrews the blue cap. The witch opens the cupboard and selects a chipped, purple mug with black cats.

Once the coffee is done, Cricket takes the pot, pours the fresh brew into the mug, and then sweetens it with the last pint of milk. She wanted sugar in her drink, but Johnny's idiot cat stole all the packets.

Speaking of Ichabod, he circles Johnny's bare feet and pouts, "Hey, where the fuck is my breakfast?"

Groaning, Johnny yanks the bowl from the dishwasher, fills it with cat food, and sets it beside the fridge.

"Bon appetite," he says, kissing him on his head.

Ichabod hurries over to his food bowl and munches on his kibble while Cricket picks up a plate of waffles and her coffee and then carries them over to the table.

Cricket strokes the chunk of waffle against the pool of sticky syrup, stabs it with her fork, and eats it in three quick bites. Her dark hair bounces on her shoulders.

After Paul Ngozi finishes, her zany music transitions to Ani DiFranco as she sings "Shameless" from the speakers.

Cricket yawns. The witch hums while slipping another piece of waffle into her mouth until she spots Ichabod looking up from his food bowl.

"What?" Cricket mumbles, swallowing her soft waffles.

"So, where's Matt?" asked Ichabod. "Is he eating breakfast with you guys?"

"He's returning the tapes to Blockbuster," said Johnny, eating his pancakes. "But I think he ate Fruit Loops before he left."

"Cool," Johnny answers, and a huge smile surrounds him. "Maybe I'll call B. Dalton again to see if they have my last paycheck ready."

"Speaking of paychecks," said Ichabod. "How's Wren doing?"

"He's fine," Johnny tells him.

"So when was the last time you saw your kid brother?"

"I don't know, maybe two years ago?"

Waddling towards her right foot, Ichabod leaps on Johnny's lap and oddly looks up at Johnny, who throws back his coffee like a shot of vodka and then places his sticky fork in the center of the plate.

"You should pay Wren and your little sister a visit," Ichabod says encouragingly. "I'm sure they want to see you."

As much as Johnny loves the idea of being a comfort blanket for his siblings, he doesn't want to think about his mother's fiery glares piercing the back of his head. And besides, even if he did step foot in his old, gilded cage, his mother would probably pester Johnny with stupid questions regarding his disinterest in college.

Finishing his coffee, Johnny drapes his arms behind the back of his head.

"Look, Ichabod," Johnny says, picking his teeth with his stubby fingernail. "I'm better off on my own than reopening old wounds, okay?"

"What?"

"I don't need them, Ichabod. I've got an apartment, a few odd jobs to keep me busy, and awesome roommates, so..."

"Johnny," Ichabod says tentatively. "Would it kill you to get out of your comfort zone?"

"What the fuck are you, my mom?" Johnny huffs.

When Ichabod doesn't answer, Johnny picks up his plate, his used coffee mug, and his fork, forcing Ichabod to hop out of his lap and onto the floor.

"Hey!" he exclaims. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to put the dishes in the dryer first," Johnny replies, "then I am going to get dressed, go to the library, and find another case."

"You're taking another monster-hunting job?" Ichabod guesses, wandering close to Johnny's feet.

"Probably."

"Don't you want to get a desk job or something?"

"And get bored very quickly?"

"Come on, Johnny," Ichabod says, looking up at him with a worried glint. "Are you seriously going to spend the rest of your life as a dangerous criminal?"

Look, you might think Johnny and his friends are dangerous criminals, but they work with gangsters and kill monsters for a reasonable fee or discount.

The same goes for Johnny's non-convicted clients.

Johnny doesn't care much about their personal lives unless he only cares about the skeletons in their closets. His only goal in life is to earn enough money to help out his roommates and buy food, clothes, and notebooks so he can write his novel.

"Crane, I don't care if the job is illegal," Johnny tells him, turning on the water. "All I care about is helping Cricket and Matt pay the bills so Stanley would leave us alone."

Speaking of bills, Cricket immediately remembers to check her mail. She finishes breakfast, heads outside, and returns with a handful of envelopes. She analyzes the towering stacks of Johnny's literary magazines, Wren's letters, bills, and Mateo's small art packages on the black kitchen countertop.

In the meantime, Johnny stretches his arms over his head. He tells Cricket he's going to Salty Joe's Emporium to investigate some clues.

Cricket raised her left eyebrow. "And why are you going to that park?"

Johnny crosses his arms and looks down at his feet.

"Last night, I had a weird vision about it," he said. "I don't know what it means, but maybe if I go there, it'll tell me what I must do."

Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Cricket studies her best friend's face and notices the circles around his eyes.

"Jesus," she mutters under her breath. "Did you get any sleep?"

Johnny shakes his head in dismay but tells Cricket he's okay. He took a quick nap, drank coffee, and got his bus pass. Even so, Cricket was uncomfortable letting Johnny enter the park alone.

"Yeah," Cricket mutters. "I think I should come with you to Salty Joe's."

"I'm fine, Chris," Johnny tells her. "I-"

"The fuck you are, J," Cricket states bitterly. "Look, I'm going to change into something more comfortable and help you look for whatever is at that shitty park."

"Chris, please-" Johnny grunts, but Cricket cuts him off.

"I think I have my keys in my room," she continues. "So, after I get dressed, I'll get the keys and the car ready. Does that sound good?"

Johnny twists his mouth but doesn't try to argue with her. He bobs his head and places his hands on his hips.

"Alright, fine," he tells her. "Let's go then, but please don't smoke those blunts in the car again. I had trouble getting that stench out of my hair last night."

Cricket lets out a fake gasp. "Cher Horowitz, is that you?"

"Wow, nice joke," Johnny responds sarcastically. "You should seriously think about being on Def Comedy Jam."

"Aw, and miss all the danger and excitement?" Cricket pouts. "That's depressing."

******
Salty Joe's Emporium is the ultimate destination if you're eager to explore the ocean's wonders or capture the perfect photo next to a Leviathan. In 1989, founder Joe Piedmont was so moved by the attractions at SeaWorld and Disney that he set out to create his park in Santa Barbara.

Sadly, Piedmont had to shut down this park because there were allegations of employees harassing the mermaids, ignoring safety protocols, and not feeding the monsters. The rumors became too much for Joe Piedmont to bear, so he closed the park and vanished into obscurity.

After parking the car on the cracked lot, Cricket unbuckles her seatbelt and hops out of her Volkswagen while Johnny leans his back against the passenger door, smoking a cigarette. She wears a green cardigan sweater with a black, sleeveless New Order t-shirt as she trots around the cracked floor in her dark shorts, mud sprays on her brown Steve Madden boots.

Scratching her black tights, Cricket tucks her dreadlocks behind her ears.

She drapes her backpack over her shoulders and stares at the establishment, which is now covered in a thin blanket of autumn leaves, and the empty booths are filled with cold rainwater. The once vibrant bumper cars now look like overgrown cockroaches; all the glittery restaurants and fun houses have been forgotten.

"Jesus Christ," she mumbles. "I can't believe it's still here."

Johnny bobs his head. He pulls himself out of the car, moves towards Cricket, and hands the cigarette to her. His long-sleeved dark shirt, bluish-gray flannel, and favorite stonewashed jeans pair. Johnny pauses to lace up his combat boots, then grunts, "Believe it or not, my dad used to take me here when I was a kid."

Cricket raised her left eyebrow. "Your dad took you there?"

"Yeah, every year on Christmas Eve," Johnny admits, his lips lift into a soft smile. "We'd get Cotton Candy, watch the Kraken eat a shark, and blow most of our cash-winning stupid games. After he divorced Mom, we stopped spending time together."

"Shit," Cricket mumbles, lowering his cigarette from her lips.

She passes it to Johnny, but when he shakes his head, the teenage witch puts it in the dirt and follows him deep into the park. They walk past the dismal rides and abandoned booths until Johnny and Cricket can see the tremendous ocean from the shopping plaza. As the warm breeze caressed Johnny's cheekbones, he stared at the sun's reflection on the glistening brown water.

He treads carefully along the wooden pier until the odors of sour milk and bird shit hit the kids like a pile of rocks.

"Aw, fuck me!" Cricket groans, covering her nose with her hands.

She glares at the old Coke bottles floating in the polluted water when she sees a mermaid lying on a pile of soggy garbage. Her delicate arms stretch out, her innocence fading from her dark eyes. The kids are horrified as Johnny and Cricket notice the swarm of hungry flies reveling on her pink nipples, bloodied tail, and mangled gills. Her mouth released a putrid odor that brought tears of agony to my eyes.

"Jesus Christ," Johnny murmurs. "Just how the hell did you survive through all that trash?"

When the mermaid refuses to answer, Cricket kneels before her and directs her gaze on the reddish-brown gunk staining the mermaid's dark blond hair.

Johnny's face contorts. He tries to distance himself from the mermaid, but his efforts are interrupted by the glint of crimson that catches his eye. He moves across the wooden pier and sees a severed arm floating on the surface. Blood pours from the mangled flesh and bone, creating a gruesome spectacle that repulsed Johnny.

"Holy fuck." he mutters. "Hey, Chrissy, check this out."

Cricket tears away from the mermaid and gasps at what she sees.

"Holy shit!" she cries. "Is that a fucking arm? Jesus Christ!"

Cricket covers her mouth and forces herself not to puke when she notices the siren's grim frown. Her dark eyes linger on the arm, but to the witch's surprise, the poor creature directs her attention to the ink-black tattoo on the palm of the victim's hand.

"Hey, what is that?" she asks, stepping forward.

The wood rocks unsteadily under her boots, prompting Johnny to gently grab Cricket by the sweater and slowly pull her close to him.

"What are you looking at, Chris?" he asks curiously.

"There's a tattoo on the person's hand." Cricket declares. "It looks like a whale with two tridents behind it."

"What?"

Johnny hesitantly approaches the arm, crouches on the pier's edge, and studies the tattoo, which matches Cricket's description.

"Holy shit, you're right," he exclaims. "Let's take a picture of this!"

Cricket smiles as she removes her backpack from her shoulders, retrieves her camera, and takes a few pictures. Johnny, on the other hand, abandons his crouching position. He asks her if she needs help getting the photos from the camera, but Cricket shakes her head and tells Johnny she knows someone who can help.

Expressing a sigh, Johnny decides to get away from the filthy water. He stretches his arms and walks away from the pier until he steps on top of a minor, silver piece of knife-like metal.

The mermaid's eyes shift away from Cricket, and she studies the metal knife intensely.

"Hiss," the siren utters, grabbing Johnny's attention.

Like a switch turning on inside her head, the mermaid's enchanted face sagged. Her tired, brown eyes turn vengeful. She focuses her spiteful gaze on Johnny and then at the sharp knife-like metal with pure determination.

As soon as Cricket is finished taking pictures, she slips the camera into her bag and goes to Johnny, who stares at the mermaid with apprehension.

"Hey, Jay." she snorts. "Why the hell are you still-"

"She wants me to kill her," Johnny claims, his gaze still wavering on the creature's face.

Cricket frowns in disbelief. "What? How can you tell?"

To answer her question, Johnny pulls out a loaded firearm from his waistband, marches towards the mermaid, and points it at her forehead.

Cricket drops her jaw. She runs towards him and then begs Johnny to stop, only to discover the dying creature staring straight into the muzzle.

"What the fuck?" she gasps.

"Yeah," Johnny says. "This mermaid wants to die."

Cricket looks down at the stoic siren and remarks, "I don't think it's right to kill that mermaid. She looks like she's been through so much pain."

"I know," Johnny agrees. "But it's better than letting her rot in this dump.

Studying the stoic siren, Cricket lets out a sad sigh and then mournfully asks if the mermaid had any wishes or regrets. The mermaid didn't answer, but her gaze lingered on the firearm in Johnny's hand, almost pleadingly.

Cricket squeezes her eyes shut. "I'm going to turn around now."

"Okay," said Johnny.

Swerving her back to the ocean, Cricket stands on the pier until she hears Johnny pulling the trigger.

Thunder masks the screams of the gunshot.

Agitated seagulls disperse in various directions. The luminous sun slips behind the dark clouds, forcing Johnny to shove his gun back into his waistband.

Once the noises stop, Cricket forces herself to look at the siren, which now has a small hole in her head. A deep crimson fluid traces down her lengthy nose and chapped lips before pooling onto her collarbone.

The metallic scent taunts the swarming flies toward her lifeless body. A pang of guilt should be coursing through Johnny for taking the mermaid's life, but strangely, he felt a sense of comfort knowing that she'll now rest peacefully in heaven, far from the pile of garbage those scumbags left her in.

"We should go," Cricket insists quietly. "Ichabod is probably -"

"Who the hell are you guys?" a shaky voice demands.

Cricket spins her head to see a red-haired teenage boy approaching them with scared, brown eyes. He wears a blue ringer shirt, ripped cargo pants, and black Nike Blazers. A white Puka shell necklace hangs on his neck while his bold red flannel wraps around his waist.

Squeezed in the boy's left hand is a small, rusty switchblade pointing in Johnny's direction.
© kstorm68q