The Hazel Riley Project
The siren who fell for a pirate
There was once a siren who fell for a pirate. She saw him as he walked the plank, tottering precariously above a wild and stormy sea. The siren did not hesitate. She swooped and caught him in her talons so quickly that the others claimed their erstwhile shipmate had been carried off by a giant eagle.
The pirate did not know what had happened to him. Was this death so soon? Could worlds be substituted so quickly without any doorway being crossed? Was there no ferryman to pay, guardian to accost? He gazed down at the world far below. Silver coins fell from his pockets. The lice fled from his hair. The siren screeched in triumph and enfolded him in her wings. A great darkness passed over his eyes and he struggled no more.
The siren carried him to a lonely cave and laid him on a bed of seaweed she prepared in a hollow of the rock. She gazed longingly at his fierce eyebrows and admired the scars that ran from his scalp to his black and crooked teeth. But the pirate slept on. He tossed and turned on his rocky bed, dreaming of sunshine and the open seas. She fed him on shredded oysters and crab meat seasoned with silver sand. The pirate choked and sat up. He saw only shadows and groaned, "Indeed, I am dead." He pulled his hair and pinched his cheek. He winced at the illusion of pain. He rolled up his sleeves.
There, just visible in the gloom, was the tattoo of his beloved Celestina, with all her sails unfurled. He tore at his shirt. Here the scar from a war in Africa, there the marks of pox. He frowned. The voyage was not done. This some strange halfway house between the worlds. How long must he languish here, far from the light yet still tied to all the old torments of his flesh and bones?
His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and he finally saw the siren, perched on a shelf of rock that jutted out just above his head. He caught the gleam of flesh and the dark glimmer of her narrow eyes. So this was the unholy creature who'd imprisoned him.
He struggled to distinguish her form, convinced some serpent or monstrous tail was hidden behind her wings.
"Scar face Jack," he said proudly. "More feared than any pirate in all the seven seas."
The siren hissed sweetly. He was a fine figure of a man who would soon have sunk without trace if she hadn't rescued him
"Cowards all," he sneered. "Take me back and I'll show them. Why, I'll wager you this gold tooth," he gestured at his gums, "that I'll take the whole damn crew with me.
They'll regret they ever crossed Scar face Jack." He raised his fists and boxed the shadows.
The siren leaned down from her rock. "A wager," she whispered "but I cannot take you back. The winds may steal you. The waves might claim you. You are mine. I caught you. I will keep you.” The siren shook her locks and sleep descended over him.
His eyes closed. He sank to his knees and collapsed back down to his rocky bed. A strange dream enfolded him, cold as a February dawn. He was adrift in a stormy sea, tossed amid the wreckage of a once fine ship. All around him the cries of drowning men. The cold waters froze his bones but he did not sink.
He awoke with a start. The darkness was complete. His relief at feeling the solidity of rock soon passed. He could hear the siren softly snoring. Was this the dream? Was this cold, hard rock more real than that cold, icy water had been? He got to his feet before such thoughts unmanned him. He clung to hope like a drowning man to his raft. Some draft of air might guide him. Some break in the darkness might show him a path, but whether it would lead up, down or sideways he couldn't guess.
He made his way blindly, letting his palms guide him As he touched the cold face of the rock he became aware of a heart beating somewhere far away. Its rhythm seeped into his fingers causing them to fidget and then tap. It dripped slowly through his bones until it reached his feet and he found himself dancing. His old boots seemed infused with a life of their own. His joints rattled as merrily as beans in a bag. His hips swayed like a ship in a harbour at high tide. A great laugh broke free from his chest and echoed through the darkness, waking the siren from her sleep.
She leapt, shrieking, from her perch. The cave was filled with such a tumultuous noise that her wings failed her. She landed badly, peeling the skin from her chin. Her claws scrabbled at the damp slimy surface of the cave floor. She swore angrily as she uprighted herself.
"Shiver me timbers," the pirate shouted, pounding his fists on the wall. A new wave of noise descended over the siren.
"Stop it now," she ordered, but the pirate only laughed louder.
He couldn't stop. He clutched his stomach and rocked backwards and forwards on his heels. He laughed more than he'd ever laughed before. His entire life flashed before him. He saw his mother pounding the washing in the tub. Suds were spilling over the rim and spreading across the floor. Someone shouted, "Raise the main sail" and he saw the canvas flapping in the wind like washing on the line. He smelled the sulphur of cannons and saw the smoke that spilled from the stricken ship. He gripped his stomach tighter as if in pain. Tears escaped his eyes, yet still he laughed. "Abandon ship, abandon ship!" He was looking down at the water, frothing and eddying around the side of the sinking ship. It was brown and uninviting, like broth that had been too long in the pot. His stomach had churned and churned, but he'd jumped. Not just once.
He survived more ships than he could name. These waters held no terrors for him anymore just the tedium of long salty hours spent waiting for land to appear on the horizon or rescue. There it was the Jolly Roger. Rough hands pulled him from the water, as light as a man half his size. He felt the knife slice through his cheek. Heard the cheers. Smelt the rum before it touched his lips. He was the pirate now. His the sword that slashed and thrust. He felt blindly that sword now. His hand grasped at empty air, faltered, tried again failed once more. “Jack Jack,” his mother calling him to dinner. Somewhere deep in the rock, if only she knew how hard it was to return. He put his ear to the rock, heard again the thud, thud of a heartbeat. Slow and certain. He crouched down, suddenly becalmed.
The siren came limping through the darkness. Her eyes searched for the pirate but found only a large boulder blocking her path. It felt strangely warm to her touch. She knelt and placed her cheek on its surface. She heard two hearts beating. A tear ran unseen down to the rocky floor and started its slow, certain, journey back to the sea. (C)
There was once a siren who fell for a pirate. She saw him as he walked the plank, tottering precariously above a wild and stormy sea. The siren did not hesitate. She swooped and caught him in her talons so quickly that the others claimed their erstwhile shipmate had been carried off by a giant eagle.
The pirate did not know what had happened to him. Was this death so soon? Could worlds be substituted so quickly without any doorway being crossed? Was there no ferryman to pay, guardian to accost? He gazed down at the world far below. Silver coins fell from his pockets. The lice fled from his hair. The siren screeched in triumph and enfolded him in her wings. A great darkness passed over his eyes and he struggled no more.
The siren carried him to a lonely cave and laid him on a bed of seaweed she prepared in a hollow of the rock. She gazed longingly at his fierce eyebrows and admired the scars that ran from his scalp to his black and crooked teeth. But the pirate slept on. He tossed and turned on his rocky bed, dreaming of sunshine and the open seas. She fed him on shredded oysters and crab meat seasoned with silver sand. The pirate choked and sat up. He saw only shadows and groaned, "Indeed, I am dead." He pulled his hair and pinched his cheek. He winced at the illusion of pain. He rolled up his sleeves.
There, just visible in the gloom, was the tattoo of his beloved Celestina, with all her sails unfurled. He tore at his shirt. Here the scar from a war in Africa, there the marks of pox. He frowned. The voyage was not done. This some strange halfway house between the worlds. How long must he languish here, far from the light yet still tied to all the old torments of his flesh and bones?
His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and he finally saw the siren, perched on a shelf of rock that jutted out just above his head. He caught the gleam of flesh and the dark glimmer of her narrow eyes. So this was the unholy creature who'd imprisoned him.
He struggled to distinguish her form, convinced some serpent or monstrous tail was hidden behind her wings.
"Scar face Jack," he said proudly. "More feared than any pirate in all the seven seas."
The siren hissed sweetly. He was a fine figure of a man who would soon have sunk without trace if she hadn't rescued him
"Cowards all," he sneered. "Take me back and I'll show them. Why, I'll wager you this gold tooth," he gestured at his gums, "that I'll take the whole damn crew with me.
They'll regret they ever crossed Scar face Jack." He raised his fists and boxed the shadows.
The siren leaned down from her rock. "A wager," she whispered "but I cannot take you back. The winds may steal you. The waves might claim you. You are mine. I caught you. I will keep you.” The siren shook her locks and sleep descended over him.
His eyes closed. He sank to his knees and collapsed back down to his rocky bed. A strange dream enfolded him, cold as a February dawn. He was adrift in a stormy sea, tossed amid the wreckage of a once fine ship. All around him the cries of drowning men. The cold waters froze his bones but he did not sink.
He awoke with a start. The darkness was complete. His relief at feeling the solidity of rock soon passed. He could hear the siren softly snoring. Was this the dream? Was this cold, hard rock more real than that cold, icy water had been? He got to his feet before such thoughts unmanned him. He clung to hope like a drowning man to his raft. Some draft of air might guide him. Some break in the darkness might show him a path, but whether it would lead up, down or sideways he couldn't guess.
He made his way blindly, letting his palms guide him As he touched the cold face of the rock he became aware of a heart beating somewhere far away. Its rhythm seeped into his fingers causing them to fidget and then tap. It dripped slowly through his bones until it reached his feet and he found himself dancing. His old boots seemed infused with a life of their own. His joints rattled as merrily as beans in a bag. His hips swayed like a ship in a harbour at high tide. A great laugh broke free from his chest and echoed through the darkness, waking the siren from her sleep.
She leapt, shrieking, from her perch. The cave was filled with such a tumultuous noise that her wings failed her. She landed badly, peeling the skin from her chin. Her claws scrabbled at the damp slimy surface of the cave floor. She swore angrily as she uprighted herself.
"Shiver me timbers," the pirate shouted, pounding his fists on the wall. A new wave of noise descended over the siren.
"Stop it now," she ordered, but the pirate only laughed louder.
He couldn't stop. He clutched his stomach and rocked backwards and forwards on his heels. He laughed more than he'd ever laughed before. His entire life flashed before him. He saw his mother pounding the washing in the tub. Suds were spilling over the rim and spreading across the floor. Someone shouted, "Raise the main sail" and he saw the canvas flapping in the wind like washing on the line. He smelled the sulphur of cannons and saw the smoke that spilled from the stricken ship. He gripped his stomach tighter as if in pain. Tears escaped his eyes, yet still he laughed. "Abandon ship, abandon ship!" He was looking down at the water, frothing and eddying around the side of the sinking ship. It was brown and uninviting, like broth that had been too long in the pot. His stomach had churned and churned, but he'd jumped. Not just once.
He survived more ships than he could name. These waters held no terrors for him anymore just the tedium of long salty hours spent waiting for land to appear on the horizon or rescue. There it was the Jolly Roger. Rough hands pulled him from the water, as light as a man half his size. He felt the knife slice through his cheek. Heard the cheers. Smelt the rum before it touched his lips. He was the pirate now. His the sword that slashed and thrust. He felt blindly that sword now. His hand grasped at empty air, faltered, tried again failed once more. “Jack Jack,” his mother calling him to dinner. Somewhere deep in the rock, if only she knew how hard it was to return. He put his ear to the rock, heard again the thud, thud of a heartbeat. Slow and certain. He crouched down, suddenly becalmed.
The siren came limping through the darkness. Her eyes searched for the pirate but found only a large boulder blocking her path. It felt strangely warm to her touch. She knelt and placed her cheek on its surface. She heard two hearts beating. A tear ran unseen down to the rocky floor and started its slow, certain, journey back to the sea. (C)
