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Fascinated by the dark waters—what lies beneath the harried waves? Cold clings with liquid silk and seaweed; her tail impresses, her flippant lips drown sailors. They smile for the camera, teeth white as their sails. It’s more of a scream—they thought the red-haired beast was a dream. They should not have let her flop onto the deck, nor have admired her ample chest. Their curiosity was hers for the taking. …and she took them, one by one, for a ride. They forgot what that saying meant. It was a ride no one comes back from. Sometimes the crimson terror would throw a few corpses onto a ship to heighten the terror. Her flipper sounded like a glass heel tapping on the planks—the thunderous point of stilettos, slicing like glass through the sailor’s veins. Bloodlust of the sea, sensuous; murderous; cacophonous. 

What their eyes saw, their hands could not touch. Their souls at the bottom of Davy Jones Locker; their flesh, fodder of a frenzy of unfriendly fish with vainglorious locks, deeply-defined curves and thrashing tails. Dead men tell no tales, though legends give fair warning.

Someone escaped or heard the dreadful sound from afar; perhaps saw something they imagined to be far-fetched; and as a ghost ship was found with the unholy stench of an unwashed Delilah, the foghorn of shipmates passed on their deeply disturbing stories.

Just an innocent Ariel at play in his sea-blue eyes. Oh yes, she lost her voice…a voice that could not carry a carrion-tune. A caricature with no compass - men lose their way when they prattle fairy tales.

4/10/2023
Contest: Writing Challenge - 'S' Words
Sponsor:Constance LaFrance

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