The Strength of a Siren

Sweet Siren

The ocean sings a lullaby with every crashing wave. The seals, boats, and seagulls provide harmony and rhythm. This orchestra can be a thundering march or a ripple-less waltz, but the melody is never the same.

However, there is a song, softer, more solemn, than any the ocean could ever play. It is the song of the siren. She was once a maiden, a fisherman's daughter, but now she is a voice on the wind.

Sailors who have claimed to see her tell tails of her monstrous beauty. Pirates have been rumored to drown at her hand. But the fishermen who check their bets on dark nights and in harsh storms, call her a guiding light when the shore is no where to be seen. A warning call when they get too close to the rocks.

People of the land call this siren a farce meant to scare others away. They say she is a ghost story created after the tragedy of "that old fisherman's family". Well, they are half right.

Hers is a melodrama she would wish no other repeats. Her voice, her only instrument of heroism, is the only thing left. If it were not for that, she would cease to exist.

The greeks called her siren, a bird with the head of a young maid. Their myths said that the siren's call would lure men to a watery grave. Then the Romans placed her on an island, never to be found.

As times go by her song is forgotten. Even those lead by that soft melody brush it off as a dream. A trick of the sea. But in a small tavern by the cove, a young fisherman tells the tale of his first time out. He had just bought his first bought and taken it out on a maiden voyage, when he was caught in a storm. "It was a hurricane!" he swears, as fishermen are aught to do. "The siren of the cove saved me. Her song led me through the black night. As the rain pelted my boat, I wrestled the tide following her call. That voice, so strong, soft, dreamlike. It was a picnic on a crisp spring day. If not for her, I would surely be dead."

But soon even his tail would faid from thought. The siren, the maiden, the monstrous beauty, the voice on the wind, would be forgotten. Nothing more than a ghost story.