from The Man in the Box - Thursday, December 06, 2007
accessed 472 times
I should preface this by saying that this was written for a woman in my life. I was inspired to write this after seeing 'Beowulf' at an IMax theater and hearing her longing to have been a mythological creature. I wrote this for her but have no idea if she'll like it so am posting it here for any feedback anyone may have. I don't usually do 'Creative Writing', so any thoughts at all are welcome. And yes, I'm messed up in the head. But then again, so is she. :)
She did not know she was the last, and by default, the only one of her kind. She merely knew she was miserable. A hollow emptiness gnawed at her being from the inside for reasons she both knew, and did not. She knew that the effects of herself on others was a source of misery for her, but did not understand why she affected others so. Her beauty was her curse, and she was blinded from the fact that she was indeed, beautiful.
All she saw were the bodies. Whether they were physically around her or not was irrelevant to her, she saw them all the same. Over the years their number had grown, all seeking her love and approval, all being dashed upon jagged rocks to share a similarly bitter fate. She hadn’t chosen to be thus revered and then consequentially hated. Alas, no! Had she chosen this fate for herself, she could live with the disastrous consequences that haunted her sleepless existence. Her cruel parents had handed her this unfortunate lot in life by despising her from the very earliest days of her beauteous and innocent enough youth. The witch of a mother to our sorrowful heroine envied her daughter’s beauty so, that she called her ugly, spiteful names. Her sisters, dumb sheep that they were, followed in their mother’s cruel lead.
But our siren knew she was a sight to behold! A light-haired beauty from the earliest days of her childhood, she realized she had power over men’s minds, and other anatomical appendages. For this power her mother and sisters hated her. Her insipid father had abandoned his wife and brood for reasons unfathomable to the conscientious mind, and they found cause to blame our fair siren for this loss at a delicate and a tender age. Words of insincere affection were used to excuse the pain daily inflicted on her pretty head and her mind swam with confusion, and pain. With no one to help to solve her many queries, the young heroine sang. Her voice was soft and smooth, and melodious and calming. A mesmerizing voice that carried on the wind, despite its hushed tones.
Off to sea, her voice led her, to an isle isolated and harsh. She sang of the pain she felt inside, the pain she sought relief from. And oh, the hoards of men she drove to failed attempts to soothe her pain. Any and all she strove to care for, had but a finite span in which to try and anesthetize the pain. When they inevitably failed, victims they became all. Bitter and angry they licked their wounds if their bodies remained intact, and not a one escaped her clutches with their pride and valor intact.
And so in time her perception changed, and the way she saw herself. The beauty she so proudly carried now became her shame. She saw herself as a monster of sorts, a vile and murderous being, who sang a song of enticing nature to ensnare and lure more victims. While her intention never grew malicious, she saw herself as such, and as she tried to project her feelings of inadequacies, her song became more pained. And yet the sadder the song she sang, the more ‘heroes’ lined up to challenge the tone. Yet the more challengers to her tone she faced, the more bitter and harsh the disappointment. And as each one’s love was proclaimed unrequited, it ended rebuffed and dashed and destroyed despite intentions of another nature.
The myth of love, one time sought-after, became a source of derision. The futility of its supposed charm grew hideous and a looming specter. A false mirage of enticing comfort, and misery was its reality. And so our fair and lovely siren sang out against this ‘love’. She sang instead of lust and want and the visions in her head.
Meanwhile lived adrift at sea, a dark and surly pirate. His only passion was want, his arrogant and articulate tongue his weapon of choice. He roamed the seas with restless want, seeking to quaff his voracious appetite. And many a beauty did he possess, who desired to give him roots. Yet he rebuffed them all, having taken from them all he needed. The lusty pleasures whet his appetite, yet left him ever hungry. He cared for none he hurt or squandered, but only for his own glee. Until the day he heard her song, and the source of its melody he did seek.
And she saw him as he made his rounds, searching for other spoils. With a glint in his eye and a chip on his shoulder, she longed for him to please her. They saw each other from across the ways and longed to possess the other. He longed to take away her pain, whilst satisfy his own desire. And if the two results could entwine, how happy might they be?
But Fate conspired to keep them apart, to revel in their joint misery. It thrust many a storm in the path of the pirate’s vessel, tossing him any which way but hers yet keeping them within the other’s view. It teased them both with others as fodder for their incomparable vices, planting women in the path of him and placing a man into her care. They longed for each other while resisting the urge to so inhale the other, each keeping the other in view while feeding on other prey. Neither misery nor joy could be had while desire ensnared them so. They strove for the other as best they could, being driven further apart by Nature in Fate’s employ. Ah, cruel Fate! Why do you take such pleasure in spoiling the rare chance at contentment? You have the world at large to dispose of, yet revel in the misery of few.
The pirate could not content himself to waiting on his lass. He left one eye and his desires upon her, continuing his path of destruction. And she, she cared so tenderly for the one placed in her care. He was just another in a line of many who so brazenly swore his love and fealty in her, so misplaced in her rocky home. She did her duty as Nature and Fate demanded of her while they plotted her demise: the inevitable outcome awaiting all of mortal kind.
They enticed the other as they continued along their path, each without the other. Their desire for the other only increasing, the longer they kept apart. Each one only wanting the other, yet the other remains out of reach. And so they persist along separate paths, each hoping for the other, the pangs of want consume them both as they journey their road alone.