The Siren Keeper

The offering fell so quickly that the rush of air blocked her open mouth. She couldn’t breathe, could only take in the roaring sunlight on the water as it rushed to meet her, eyes stinging, lungs on fire. A great wave opened its foam-flecked maw and the small eternity of her plummet ended with bones cracking against the concrete ocean.

She tried to scream, but found herself unable, her mouth full of the bitter waters that dragged her under. They were icy-cold, the hands that held her there, that prevented her from breaching the surface like a baby; gasping, wailing, pink. Her body seized with the cold of the water, her shattered bones like vectors of lightning as she thrashed her limp and mushy limbs, before the blessing of unconsciousness offered her final relief.

The sirens who had sung to her, who had summoned her to the cliff’s edge, watched the spark depart her eyes, fleeing the fate that awaited the vessel.

And after a reverent pause, something akin to thankfulness, they descended.

Silver tails punctuated with nacreous fins cut lines through the brine, cold hands pulled and pushed and ripped. Pupils narrowed to pin-pricks and jaws unhinged, row upon row of jagged teeth serrated flesh into pieces.

That small patch of ravenous ocean turned red, its surface disturbed beyond measure.

From the cliffside, the siren keeper pressed his lips into a line, pushing his hands into his pockets. He slowly turned to walk away. His feet felt heavy, his heart yet heavier, as he walked away from the feeding. Soon to be over, until the next one.