I was five the first time the sirens came to call.
They lounged on the shore of the pond in our backyard, sunning themselves in the last rays of August sun. Their dark gold eyes were hungry as they reached out thin-fingered hands to me, spoke to me in echoing voices of silk. Little sister, with us you need never be alone. We’ll show you our home in the water, teach you our songs. You’ll be wild and free and beautiful and adored.
I shook my head, scrambled back up the hill to the old wooden steps of the porch. Sitting on the bottom step, I listened to the chickadees and mourning doves sing while the sirens braided their hair and slipped back into the water.
The next time I saw the sirens, I was fifteen.
Their eyes were the same gold, but their voices sounded less like silk and more like the whisper of wind through the leaves of the woods behind our house. They found me at a local lake, my feet in the water as the last wisps of dawn faded from the sky. The water rippled around my ankles as they swam closer. Little sister, we’re still here for you. Come with us. You won’t need to say a word unless you choose, won’t be pressed into roles you don’t fit. We’ll care for you. You’ll be safe and understood and loved.
I waded out until the water lapped at my knees, watched as the sirens stretched out their hands to me, their heads tilted as they waited. They were still there, hands outstretched, hours later when I turned my back and returned to sit on the rough sand of the shore.
At nineteen, the sirens knew where to find me.
They lifted themselves out of the water to sit beside me on the wooden dock, voices clear as crystal and warm as a summer thunderstorm. One stroked her hand down my hair, another wrapped her arm around my waist and leaned her cheek against my shoulder. A third waited in the water, gold eyes soft as she reached up to me. Little sister, please. We can protect you here. You don’t need to be alone in this. Come home. You’ll be welcomed with open arms and never be given reason to cry.
I stayed silent, accepting their embraces without a word or a gesture in response. The two beside me slid back into the water as dusk approached, watched me for the slightest change in my expression. The third looked back just once before submerging.
At twenty-five, the sirens visit me for drinks.
We gather at the pool in my apartment complex, the water glowing under the moonlight. I bring a cooler of tequila and Mike’s Hard Lemonades, pass them around to the sirens as they tell me about their days. As their chatter winds down, voices slow and sweet as honey, they set their elbows on the side of the pool and look up at me with molten gold eyes. Little sister, come home with us. We love you so, and we want you with us always. We’ll teach you our songs. You needn’t be alone.
I collect the empty bottles, give a smile to each of the sirens with teeth that have grown a little too sharp in my mouth. They watch me as I stretch with my arms above my head, reach out hands to me as I stand on the edge of the pool.
“Not yet,” I tell them. “Not yet.”
-It Goes Like This, C.D. (chickadeeburns)
janainaart
theartofmadeline
areudirty
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
gummygunk
annaxmalina
