Circus Act V.5: The Forensic Mermaid Report
Since I did not have any photographs, I needed tangible evidence of what I had encountered. I commissioned two artists to reconstruct the alleged mermaid, and I am now prepared to share what is, for legal purposes, approximately 50% accurate.
The first artist was hired off Fiverr, based on a careful review of his portfolio, pricing, and willingness to work with emotionally unstable source material.
This is what I received.
The sketch was completed on lined paper because blank paper required a five-dollar upgrade, and the investigation had already suffered multiple budgetary setbacks.
The face has been altered to preserve the subject’s anonymity, but the emotional accuracy remains intact.
Exhibit A: Initial Forensic Composite of the Alleged Mermaid
Artist: Leonardo DiFake
Medium: graphite on lined paper
All rights reserved.
To be fair, Leonardo DiFake captured the soul.
The eyes were there. The confusion was there. The quiet aquatic grief was there.
The issue was the hair.
I had clearly explained that the alleged mermaid had straight hair, but Leonardo insisted on curls because, in his professional opinion, “it looked better.”
This was troubling, as the investigation was not about what looked better.
It was about the truth.
I was not fully satisfied with the first forensic composite. Leonardo DiFake had successfully captured the emotion in the eyes, but failed to document the full movement and volume of the hair.
Here at Absurd Geometry, we like to be as factual as possible. Therefore, a second rendering became necessary.
An overwhelming feeling came over me to find someone with a fresh mind △ △ △ someone who still believed in fantasy and had perhaps been around marine life recently.
I visited the local kindergarten with some leftover Halloween candy, hoping to commission a second forensic rendering.
I arrived during whistling class, which I did not know was part of the kindergarten curriculum.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but this is important.”
The teacher looked concerned.
“For the police?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “For me.”
I explained that I needed a reenactment sketch of what I had seen at the circus before it escaped my memory. I asked if she had any aspiring criminal profile sketchers, forensic artists, or children who had been to SeaWorld recently.
One child came forward.
He said he might like to do that in the future, along with becoming a veterinarian, a hunter, and Mickey Mouse’s best friend.
There was only one condition.
He could help after his nappy.
The tiny artist accepted the upfront payment, then requested a nappy as part of his creative process. So we waited. After the nap, he emerged refreshed, emotionally stable, and ready to reconstruct the suspect from memory.
