Siren Song

There was a time when Sirens were revered by all those who had heard of them. We were a group that was not to be taken lightly, with sailor’s being warned of our deadly call. Of course, the sailor’s never did heed that warning, and our reputation would continue. I remember the days of sitting on those rocky cliffs, mist cumulating around my fellow Sirens and I, as we sent our melodies across the sea. They were my sisters, and I loved them as much as a Siren can. We were forced from our home as the ships became larger and larger, and the lore of us became something to hunt rather than fear.

One by one, I lost them. My dearest sisters were tangled in fishing nets, poisoned by oil, or starved. The transition to land was difficult, and it was not without sacrifice. It was a harsh, lonely, and painful process of molting my beautiful tail. I didn’t even realize what was happening at the time, I thought I was just another Siren destined to wither away. Crawling up from the depths and into a cave on the beach I mourned my lost sisters and waited for death to take me. But it never came. Instead, I was given a gift. A gift I would use to avenge my sisters for my coming eternity.

Now I look in the mirror at my long, silky black hair, and apply the perfect shade of red lipstick to make my ocean blue eyes pop. Nearly a century later and I’m still quite popular among the humans on land. I’ve adjusted to this life as a means to not only survive, but to thrive. The penthouse I reside in is beyond luxurious, and I do enjoy the lavish amenities humanity strives to provide. I feel that maybe I become more human the longer I stay here, though my hatred for them still prevails. I will never forget the misery they brought upon me, and the death they brought to my family.

A tight black dress with a slit up the thigh hangs on the closet door behind me, waiting for me to slip into it. I’ve always felt rather powerful, how could I not when my voice lured men from their ships to my rocky shores. The most painful part was always waiting for those ships to crash on the rocks or waiting for the sailors to make their measly way to us. But now, now I walk a block down the street and men plead for my time. I don’t even have to use my voice. This black dress is my favorite though, it’s when I feel the most like my old self. I dawn it and stride to the nearest jazz spot and convince some overly eager gentleman to let me sing as they play. I’m never turned away.

So tonight, I slither into my powerful black dress and make my way to that little bar. I make my way onto the stage, letting the sway of my hips draw attention without saying a word. This one night is when I have the chance to sing my siren song again. I look out past the lights of the stage and lock eyes with whomever reminds me most of the pain I’ve suffered. I lock eyes with a blonde gentleman, mid-thirties, smiling like he thinks he knows something I don’t. He’s perfect. My lips graze the microphone as I release the song from my belly, a song that’s centuries older than every human in this room combined. There’s a tingle through my body as the song connects and I feel the tendrils of my melody wrapping around his mind, binding him to me. He will be driven mad to find me when the night ends, and I’ll be waiting.

I don’t allow myself nights like these often, trying to remain as anonymous as I can. I’ve had my encounters with human law enforcement when they’ve connected me to a missing person, and I didn’t like being held in such a small room for so long. Of course, I did commit the crime, but I like to finish a meal. Leftovers can be such a hassle. However, there’s a vibrant energy in the air tonight, and I feel my hunger swell. I might as well stay and collect just one more. The blonde one is simmering as he waits for me to exit the stage, so impatient. I look past the lights once more to see a man at the bar.

He's quite handsome as far as humans go, and if it were the olden days, perhaps he would be one I kept around to play with before consuming. His dark black hair is slicked back behind his ears as he brings his glass to his mouth, tilting it to the ceiling as he gazes at the stage. His eyes are a deeper blue than mine, and it almost stings to see the beautiful color from the depths of my home looking at me from a mortal body. My heart aches once more for the life I’d been forced to leave behind. He nods to me, and raises his glass, as if he can see my pain. I lock my eyes with is and let the song drift from my lips.

It dances across the room, weaving its way towards my chosen target. The tingling across my chest and down my arms is stronger than expected, and I feel my back bend slightly as my song continues to carry. I lock my eyes with his once more right as my song is snaking through his mind, but just as I think it’s about to take hold, he turns away. He’s calling to the bartender for another drink and my song falls short. I stumble back from the microphone ever so slightly, and I’m met with a barrage of applause from the crowd. Though all I can think of is him. The man who did not bend to my song.

Of course, the blonde one is waiting for me as I leave the stage, his hand extended to help me down the steps. Normally, this is when I would offer him a coy smile and suggest we go back to my home, but I can’t help but feel I must investigate this raven-haired deviant. I sever the bond of my song, and he steps back. He’ll be in a state of confusion for a while, and I’m disappointed to let such a decent meal off my hook, but it seems there is more interesting bait to inspect. With a flip of my hand, he walks away, and I saunter over to the gentleman at the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” I let a smile tug at the corner of my mouth as I say it. A line I’d heard countless times before.

“Be my guest,” He gestures to the stool and looks back at the drink in hand, “can I get you anything?” His voice is deep and smooth, a rasp at the end of each sentence.

“That’d be lovely, I’ll take a bourbon, neat.” I say to both him and the bartender. I’ve come to enjoy the occasional alcoholic beverage, and this one is the simplest.

“You have a beautiful voice, towards the end there it almost felt like you were singing to me.”

“And yet you turned away at the best part.”

“Well, I figured I ought to turn away before I fall in love, besides, I don’t even know your name.” He smiles, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. It’s something I’ve not felt before, but also, nobody has ever asked for my name after I’ve given my song.

“Celeste, and you are?” I’ve never wanted to know a name so badly. It’s difficult not to squirm in my seat when he looks at me. He really looks at me, and I find myself being pulled into his eyes. I wonder if this is how it feels to be taken by my song.

“Matteo, but you can call me Matty if you like,” He takes another swig of his drink before glancing at his watch, “My apologies Celeste, but I’ve had quite the day and should probably be headed home.”

“Oh,” The disappointment in my own voice is a surprise.

“But how about, I leave you with this,” he pulls a pen from his jacket pocket and across me to grab a napkin from the bar. He even smells like the salt of the ocean, “That’s my phone number if you’d like to grab another drink sometime.”

“I might just take you up on that.” My smile is real this time, as I watch him grab his jacket.

“Oh, and one more thing, I’m sorry for the one’s you lost. I lost some too.” He  says solemnly, then winks and leaves me sitting there in awe.

A Siren. He’s a Siren... and I'm drawn to him.