“I know that sound,” she thought to herself, her mind flooding with memories unbidden, but welcome. Visions of storm swept voyages on ancient sailing vessels, rampaging gales hurling tidal destruction with only her hand to stay the helm. Those images, and a song…
She was wind-swept and tossed about with a flask in hand, remembering the last time she heard that melody. The haunting siren’s wail on the seas taunted her as she tried to steady herself at the mast. Too far gone to steady the ship, she left the steering to her mate, a seafarer and wanderer like herself.
But that night the sea was angry and unforgiving. It didn’t take lightly to her drunkenness. She tried to forget everything with the sting of the Rum against her lips, a clap of thunder, washing down her throat like one of the waves crashing against the side of the ship.
But she was lost in forgetting as she was brought to her knees with the flailing of the sails as they whipped the air above, and the back-and-forth of the ship’s unrest in the waves threw down anything not tied to the deck. This voyage had already tested their might, as the rest of the crew was not two days yet underwater. All 20 souls, but two, were lost forever to Davy Jones’ Locker. Now it was just she and her fellow Buccaneer on this doomed journey through uncharted waters and cursed storms the gods could not have foreseen.
What would become of them now? She pulled herself up in a brief moment of stillness, still squiffy in between waves, and grabbed ahold of the mast once more. “Heave Ho!” she yelled to her mate, and onward they sailed through the choppy waters, the moonlight their only guide.
Under her breath, she chanted along with the siren’s wail, and it became a kind of dark lullaby for the restless-hearted.
* Thanks to Marcus George for the writing prompt!
Photo by Lachlan Ross from Pexels