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Inspired by The Siren by J. Waterhouse

It’s been a while since I got to play my lyre. Musical instruments make the most wonderful sound when you play them out of the water, but the last time I went up, my trusty friend got carried away by waves and collided with the cliff the second I let go of it to adjust my hair. Now its pieces are resting among the debris at the very bottom of the ocean, with many other instruments I had broken over the years. To be fair, I could dive in and fetch it, but the whole ordeal of connecting the pieces together and fixing it up will undoubtedly prove to be very tedious. 

As my fingers glided along the strings, I heard a heavy splash coming from the side of the shore. In the early hours of the morning, birds and land critters are far from plentiful, and it was only natural for me to turn at the loud sound. There I saw him: a creature, blissfully splashing in the water, unaware of my close presence. He was beautiful. With a merman’s physique and masculine features, the tail was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I observed two equally long arm-like appendages, which, frankly, didn’t take away from his charming presence. It was becoming troublesome to both look and play at the same time, and so I gave up on the latter activity. The abrupt stop of music, however, hasn’t escaped the creature’s attention. He turned his head towards where the sound of my lyre was coming from, and it finally happened: I’ve been discovered. I wasn’t afraid, on the contrary, I quickly tried to present myself in the best light, adjusting my wet hair with a hand free of my lyre in an attempt to give it more volume, which proved to be quite difficult now that I was out of the water. He called out to me a few times, each time louder than the previous one, and all I could think about was how funny his voice sounded when he was yelling what I believe were various words. I laughed, and he went silent. Did I startle him? As I began to curse myself over the careless mistake, the creature dove into the waters and made a quick way towards me, working the bottom limbs similarly to a mermaid tail. Only when he arrived at my rock, he noticed our most striking difference — my tail. With childish wonder, he reached out his arm to barely touch it, sliding his hand back and forth along the scales. “Do you find it revolting?” I asked, and his hand went still, as his eyes locked on mine. His response was short, said with a low and calm voice. 

I didn’t understand his language, and he didn’t understand mine, but neither of us needed words to communicate. By sitting close to him, being in his presence, it felt like he understood me better than anyone had: my mother, my own kind. Boldly, I rested my head on his shoulder, inhaling the unfamiliar scent. We stayed still for a while, uninterrupted, until the sun has fully risen. Only then he gently pushes my head off his shoulder, giving me time to adjust to my new position. As he departed, I wasn’t afraid that I might not ever see him again. On the contrary, I could feel that he too knew of a special connection we now shared. I sat on my rock a while longer, thinking about my future, the sea-dwelling suitors, and him, him, him.