Make Me a Part of Your World

(o⌒．⌒o)

Chapter One: 

        A red hue in the water catches my attention, just with a quick glance: I know exactly what the colored object is. I read my hand out, moving forward until my hands touch the cool surface of the water; chilling my fingertips. I cut a path into the cold liquid, searching until my fingers envelope the smooth shell. With care, I pull my hand slowly out of the water, maneuvering my hand out; not wanting to cut my hand on the ragged coral. My hand emerges, making a small splash; which is followed by ripples. I look with awe at the red conch shell, watching the colors flicker within the tears of water along its sides. I run my fingers along the smooth swirls, flowing around the hard surface. The work of this is divine, and beautiful.

        I press the hallow part of the shell to my ear, closing my eyes and letting the harmonies of the ocean's music flow into my ears. I relax, savioring the singing of the waves and the bubbling of the water calm my nerves. My breathing slows, and the tension in my body slips away.

I have been on this rock for hours now, watching the waves twirl and dance; and watching the creachers around me do a number equally as beautiful.

        I look up in front of me, wathcing fellow sirens play and sing. They dance to festivities music throughtout the water, laughing. They drink the finest of the God's liquior, and eat the finset of the Godess' fruit.

The children sat, braiding each other's hair, intertwining flowers and shells into the skillful work of divine art.

        Today is our leader's day of birth - a day we have been celebrating for many millineums. The God's are gifting him and his people with a boat. We haven't had any ships or sailors for centuries, and we now are in need of offspring. The God's had decided to promise us with a boat, to mate and seduce the men and women inhabiting the ship; to love and birth with until they died.

        I sit alone, not socializing or interacting with any of the other sirens. I am not welcomed anyways. I've always been ridiculed and unwanted...

Because I simply cannot sing.

        A siren without a singing voice is something we call "Tίpota"... which means "nothing" in our native tongue. They are not spoken to, nor are they addressed. They are also not allowed to interact or speak with any of the sailors that crash at the island. We cannot eat or have the same living quarters with other sirens... an we cannot mate.

It's lonely.

I return my focus to the conch in my hand, this one being the sixth - and most beautiful- one I have found this week.

        My ears perk up as the sound of flapping comes overhead. I look up, seeing the Bay Gaurdians flying above us. They've protected us for generations, and they have warned us for boats.

They cackle of a boat, full of peiratés. 

This is the boat we were promised, and the other sirens cheer and smile in glee. Getting into form, they ready their melodies and songs. With a deep breath, they begin to vocalize the pleas for the sailors to come to us.

        Come to us, wayfaring sailor

        Come and be satiated.

        Drink the sweet wine,

        Eat all the fruits.

                Quicken your spirit.

        Come to us, wayfaring sailor

        Come be enlightened.

        Listen and learn,

        Know all the past

Know all the future.

        Come to us, wayfaring sailor

                Come, come, come...

        Their songs are harmonic, obviously entrancing. The ship beings to sway, turning in our direction and silhouetting in the light of the sun. I know the lyrics to the songs and chants they sang, as I was taught them when I was young.

Yet I cannot sing with them.

        The boat draws close to the shore, heading close to the rocky cay. The singing sirens were careful to not lead them to the most dangerous parts of our bay.

The side of the large ship crashes into a rock, tearing the side of the boat almost off. Since they are already so close to our shore, they will surivive.

        The wood gives off a strangled groan as the ship turns over almost onto its side. The water is shallow, so the boat will not drift away. People begin to clamber out of the boat, and the sirens begin to disguise their tails as human legs. I have to do the same - so I let my blue fin and tail shift into legs, my scales becoming clothing. I feel naked without my tail, and exposed without my scales.

        They watch as the sailors come onto land, and they address them. Making sure everyone is okay, and pretending to be simple villagers whom inhabit the island.

        A red hue catches my attention, and just with a quick glance: I don't know what it is. It looks over at me, and we make eye contact. He makes the seventh shell I've found this week.

And it's more divine and beautiful than the last one.