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The Siren's Tail.

 They dwelled on an island – just a little north of the mainland, it was such a queer little isle that it earned the name Conch, and its spiraling verve did not do any injustice. If you were to gaze upon the lush greens of Conch, to taste its vivacious fruits, walk down the earthy, maroon rock paths and sample its glorious scents, you would deduce that such an island was so pure and unblemished, it must have been deserted. This is not the case; however, as its inhabitants are hiding from you, humming in revelry as they dance between the breezes and brush their fingers upon the petals of flowers. But, if you look closely enough through the excess of green - along the lush foliage of Conch, maybe along the eastern coast, you could catch the glimpse of a cheeky smirk – a smile that would be your last.          

The littlest girl had finally reached the age of fifteen, and her sisters dressed her in petite accessories made of seaweed and clams. The fifteenth birthday was a most special one for any girl; it was the day that mother would kiss her scaled appendage – even though it would cause mother’s lips to bleed their luminous green blood. It was the day that every one of her sisters would emit the sweetest note from their talented tongues, relaxing even the boniest of the girls’ fishtails. It was the very day that the ocean seemed to swirl in a ballet of approval, and clap applause with its rolling waves: The day when a girl turns fifteen, she is allowed to make her first kill.

Every week, the Sirens journey to their lurid coasts; there they shall sit on the gentle sand, their glistening synthesis of skin and scale casting a handsome sparkle into the distance. As their oceanic vision catches glimpse of a ship – no doubt filled of full-bodied men - The Sirens will then prepare their rare throats for a vocal onslaught that could only be described as inexplicably beautiful. The Siren’s song causes the ocean to quiver, and almost instantly, the destination of the ship changes from port – Mother seems to swell with pride at her daughters’ impeccable talent.

After only a short while, the men arrive in their vast numbers like a little oceanic menagerie. Two sets of star fish, one bulbous mollusk head, one blubbery gut and one extended, ripe sea cucumber, all ready to be harvested. Each man staggers in a delusional grace – waltzing towards their beautiful predatory who willingly accepts the thrusts of her prey. And the thrusts keep going and going, the flesh scraping against the bumped sharkskin abdomen, like meat to an opal grater. Eventually, the golden sands of the coast turn to crimson with the mush of humanity, ready to be licked away by the oceans translucent tongues – the Little Mermaid joined in this celebration, and shivered in eagerness to perform her first solo.

The Little Mermaid crawled her way across the breadth of Conch, the thickness of her lowers guarding her from the unwarranted harshness of the rocks beneath. She enjoyed the scents of the red trails left by her sisters, and these sensual teases only increased her anticipation further. The wind began to grow in its presence, and it whipped from the little one her seaweed necklace and clam broach, but this did not distract her from the destination, even though every inkling inside her pretty head said to chase these idolatries. After an hour of dragging her lithe frame, the ocean was close, and on the misty horizons of the Mediterranean Sea a little rowboat was evident – in theory, the perfect opportunity for the little virgin to develop her bloodlust. And so, as natural as any bantam fowl, The Little Mermaid opened up and sang her melody.

For a few moments she thought that her eyes were gazing upon nothing but a vivid reflection, but she was wrong. Out of the water rose the naked human flesh of a woman – with no tail! And what else was this? The Little Mermaid stood vacant as the naked woman twisted upon her, transfixed by the obscenities presented – the alien kneecaps, toenails – that weird orifice! For all her life, she had grown accustomed to the predestination – the eternal routine of singing and feasting. She stopped singing and the woman fled into the sea, and then drowned in a foamy kafuffle. She was intrigued by the woman’s attributes to the point of jealousy, feeling that she was lacking in some greater scheme. The Little Mermaid then dutifully retrieved the body and began to swim around the edge of the isle, her left hard clenching tight around crisp auburn locks; she had a bargain to make.

She swam for an hour, leaving behind a waft of blood that nestled upon the coral at the rock-side, a light dusting of a cake. Eventually, The Little Mermaid arrived at a semi-submerged hut made of some foreign wood and decorated with the sands and treats of the shore. The sea weed hanging from the doorframe, kept in place by bones and teeth, brushed the girl’s back as she drags the salty corpse through the entrance.           

‘Well, well – my child. You do well to tempt with this rare morsel – eating she as she does eat our holy caviar, hmm?’ The Seawitch had smelled the cadaver from within, and crept along with her slimy, expandable arms that looked akin to an Octopus, slinking to greet the young girl and her treasure. The room was rife with cinnamon incense, it tickled The Little Mermaid’s throat in a way less pleasant than the seaweed drapes. The walls were a monument to the ocean and bleached in enough bone to fill the demanding gluttony of a museum – carvings so eerie and fantastic that the youth blushed. In the middle of her domain was a giant bowl that contained a seeping grey humour and the mixture stunk of the mainland. 

The Seawitch scratched her large breasts a little, nipping the golden thread that hung beneath them, and let out a vulgar cough that made the girl redden further. Two of her arms were still busy with yesterday’s needlework, but the rest were poised and flexing – emitting an air of inky stealth. Across her heavily-made face was a broad carnivorous smile that was more mischievous than malicious. Throughout all her features was a deep sense of pride – one uncorrectable by creams and lotion. For, the Seawitch possessed the most precious thing of all the local isles, and this was a golden barb fashioned from the hairs of Poseidon and the flesh of Gaia. This magical instrument could suture any material to that of something living, and make twain the living once more. The Seawitch had used this to stitch the littered tentacles of Jellyfish, found suffocating on the gritty shores, to her frilly bellows – the shells and claws of crustaceans to acquire the appearance of more backbone, and eight oleaginous limbs to her waist for extra movement and pitch-black dominance – the needle had done her well.

‘I do not care much for this tail anymore, miss witch – Please, give me these legs and this-‘ The Seawitch laughed heartily  and snapped up the corpse with a slap of her tentacles. ‘Of course, my pretty – these are just the right size for you. With a quick slice of my knife and a sewing from my needle, you shall have your wish.’ The Seawitch’s eyes widened. “But I am too cold-hearted to hand out gifts willy-nilly, my dear; I am not your mother! First, I require a sacrifice.’ The girl smacked her lips, knowing that the only thing a siren truly has of any worth is their- “Voice, my dear – lend me my voice.’ And so it was done.           

The Little Mermaid awoke after hours of vicious surgery, and she was feeling sufficiently sore. She winced at the sight of her dispatched tail in a large glass jar, pickling like an egg to be served to some hungry lowerclassman at dinnertime. Next to this was a small, floating orb. It was both cobalt and snowy at the same time, and it seemed to swirl slightly in the flittering light slithering in through the wooden walls. This, the Seawitch explained, was the stony gland found inside of any Siren. This gland vibrated at intense speed and caused a sound inaudible to any spiritual creature, yet irresistible to a being dominated by their flesh. 

Looking down, she saw the sun-baked rebirth that lay below – the most confusing fusion of the strange and the known, and yet it made her smile with glee; she could now experience this exciting new method of movement. The Little Mermaid stretched her new limbs tentatively, beginning to gain more confidence with her new companions. ‘A word of warning, my dear.’ The many-limbed figure breathed deep, and exhaled more fumes and musk into the atmosphere. ‘If you are not to – properly exercise your new features within three days, then you are to turn to lead and sink to the bottom of the ocean till your flesh corrodes away till all that is left is foam.’ And so The Little Mermaid ventured outside in haste, fumbling over her fresh limbs like a new-born babe.

To her digression, she was not as attractive as she once thought. The locals of the island found her churlish and pale – she did not have enough meat on her bones, a starter rather than a main. Her etiquette was considered abysmal, the constant touching and exploring of her new body made several men’s faces turn into a façade of Rosé. Like an ill-rehearsed dance the rejections continued for three days until The Little Mermaid finally gave up, and rested her exhausted frame upon the local ocean; the gritty sand bringing with it an unusual and unpleasant feeling to her new legs.

Seeing the youth in her plight, the Seawitch ventured down to the beach in her long, elasticated gown that concealed her attainments and gave her the appearance of a youthful hunchback. From her deep pocket she produced a knife, and the Seawitch gently placed it in the girl’s hand. ‘Cleanse your new parts with the blood of a man, and you shall have your body till time does reap, my dear’. The Little Mermaid still had an hour to save her life, so she thanked the witch and departed for the sand.

The Shaggy man had left his family for a few moments – a few misguided instants to relieve himself. He had whispered no loving nothingness to his wife, nor had he bid his grinning children goodbye, yet he walked towards the ocean completely ignorant of his destiny. The Little Mermaid caught glimpse of the man early, and wiggled towards him with a little wink. Before the Shaggy Man had a chance to attempt small talk, or to stare at the stranger’s body with his earthen eyes; the girl struck him quick and hard, killing the man with little difficulty. Then, she dug her sharp-nailed fingers into his deep wound and massaged the procured blood onto her legs and inside of herself, and act that caused her to tingle slightly with pleasure. She smiled as the golden thread magically sunk a little deeper into her blended form, sealing her fate as a unique being - she inhaled loudly with a deep callousness, reveling in the simple manipulation of the air - the emotionless air.

The Little Mermaid grew up to be the universal ambassador of Conch, spreading the target audience of the resort from just Mediterranean to European, American, global even! For years The Little Mermaid acted as the convincingly human guide to this mysterious, gorgeous resort; leading thousands of pretty little humans to the isle of tasty little treats.  
Written by Donchonorgo (Louis Lee Warner)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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