The Conception of a Siren

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of how a woman becomes a siren. Feedback/opinions greatly appreciated!

Submitted: May 09, 2016

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Submitted: May 09, 2016

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The sudden icy cold of the arctic seawater bit at my skin, subjecting me to a fit of violent shivers. I had only a brief moment to inflate my lungs before I would begin my long descent towards the ocean floor. Hollers and cheers erupted above me as the men who had cast me from the vessel celebrated my inevitable termination. My husband’s exclamations of delight prevailing. However, these shouts were short lived, as the submergence of my skull presented an eerie yet peaceful note of silence. The last sight I saw was the darkening overhead as ominous storm clouds seized the sky. If I were to perish, I thought, I could think of no grander honour than by the hands of the sea.  

We sat crowded around an exquisitely designed billiard table. My husband’s arm strapped around my waist as he discussed the navigational procedures with his crew. His seamen remained attentive and focused, while I payed diminutive attention to the concerns he expressed. I was disinterested in the technicalities of our course; the brilliance of the journey was what enticed me. Many of the men aboard the craft argued that the ocean was something of bore, a repetitive scene that they forever wished to be ridded of. I reasoned differently however, being endlessly enraptured and awed by its sheer beauty and vastness.  

Hours later, my husband and I stood on the timber deck of the barque, observing as the threatening sight of storm clouds rolled nearer. His sorrowful manner concerned me, but the impending thuds of footsteps kept me silent in my inquiry. We turned as the sound of the deckhands approached the bow, their expressions twisted in irritation and anxiety as they spotted the black clouds. “The sixth storm of occurrence this is,” the second mate sneered at me, “We’ve been cast at sea for dram over seven months! Our crew encountered not one tempest in the year before she came aboard.” He pointed accusingly at me. Multiple whispers of agreement circulated through the group, followed by a current of ‘Aye’s’. I gazed expectantly at my husband, hoping he would diminish the concerns and interests of his crew, but his expression presented defeated, and he looked at me with an apology in his eyes. He knew about this. They’d made some arrangement.

  I stood on the splintered, rotting plank that overstood the sea, my hands restrained behind my spine and my legs secured together. The wood was still wet from the storm of last week that had triggered these men into performing my sacrifice. “It’s nothing of subjective,” The first mate once again snickered at me, “but women are wicked fortune aboard.” My husband stood feet away, looking down at his shoes and refusing to meet my eye as I glared at him. “Time’s up, my dear…” The man continued, and with a violent kick, sent me sprawling over the board, free-falling towards the ominous ocean.

  I prepared for the painful gulps of air that would only inhale mouthfuls of water, filling my lungs and inevitably drowning. But they never came. The desire to breathe never surfaced.   I watched as the men celebrated that night, even my own husband. Heard the clanks of their glasses as they yelled drunken slurs of “cheers!”. 

The sight overwhelmed me with grief and rage at their pure pleasure in my demise. Unbidden, a melodic tune escaped my lips and I viewed in amazement as the men halted their festivities, entranced by the sound. One by one, they plummeted off the side of the ship, lured to their deaths by the intoxicating song.

  For eternity, I search the marvellous sea in vengeance, luring countless men to their watery graves.
 


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