Prompt January 11, 2017

: A siren, not blessed with the mesmerising beauty of his sisters, must lure sailors into jumping into the water by challenging them to fight him.

 

My only thing with this prompt was, I felt, that I didn’t spend enough time with the actual siren. Though that’s a great thing with prompts like these– you not beholden to any expectations and are free to write about whatever you want. 

 

“Aye captain,” Robbie the lookout called down from the crow’s nest, “we’re coming up on some rough looking shallows.”

 

Captain Greymane, stiff as ever, looked up briefly and nodded. He had heard the message, and chose not to respond. He knew exactly where they were– he had been here before many times and almost lost himself. The smell and the feel of the waves locked the captain’s stomach in a knot. Treachery was not far off.

 

“ALRIGHT,” Greymane hollered from the helm to no one in particular. “Listen up lads, if this be your first time on this ship in these waters, get a piece of twine and bound your hands together.”

 

Many of the men aboard stopped their work and looked at the captain with confusion.

 

“We’re to what?” called a voice from the main deck.

 

“You heard me you dog,” snapped Greymane, losing patience that he never had. “Bound your fucking hands together, or you’ll wish you had.”

 

Most of the crewmen quickly found random lengths of rope and bound their hands, some behind, some in front, and one eager musician tied his hands to look as if he was locked in a steamy embrace with the mast. At this the Captain looked to his violinist and together they shrugged.

 

A few of the crewmen had decided that this command was beneath them until the burly quartermaster set upon them with his lightning-quick whip. One sly deck swab, Martin, who had exceptional experience with slipping bindings had another man tie his hands only to free himself after the veteran crew’s inspection.  

 

‘Why in the bloody hell should I tie my hands up?’ Martin thought, “So that Quartermaster and that grouch Greymane can throw me overboard without a fight and then take my share of the gold?’

 

As the sloop slipped by the shallows which slowly ascended into a crude forsaken rock formation the crew found themselves utterly bored without the use of their hands.

 

“Hey you faries.” Called a high-pitched voice off the starboard side. “Yeah I’m talking to you.”

 

“MAN OVERBOARD,” cried one of Greymane’s sailor. Within a second, more than a dozen crewmen attempted to aid the sailor much to their struggle.

 

“Nope, try again you idiots,” the voice called again. The sailors stopped frantically scanning the waters and looked up to spy a hideous creature riddled with acne sunbathing on a jagged-ringed plateau.

 

“Get away from that railing,” bellowed Greymane as he kept hold of the rudder wheel.

 

“Get away from that railing,” the creature mocked back. He threw back his head of greasy tangled hair and laughed. “Do as your master says you lousy morons.”

 

Martin, who had made his way over to the railing to get a glimpse of the monstrosity yelled out in defiance. “No man is our master. We are free men.”

 

“Is that so,” The creature smirked. “Then why are all of your hands bound?”

 

Martin looked around and found his fellow sailors at a loss for a rebuttal.

 

“What’s a matter? Are you dumb and mute?” The creatures smile had twisted into a malicious mask.

 

“Shut it you wretched creature if you know what’s good for you.” Martin cried back.

 

“Or what?”

 

“Quartermaster, restrain that man.” ordered Greymane.

 

It was too late though. Martin took off his shirt and was diving off the side of the H.M.S. Swift as the rest of the crew watched on half in amusement and half in horror. Martin, who admittedly wasn’t the entirely comfortable in the water and had yet to completely find his sea legs was charging this prepubescent blob with righteous fury. What transpired only took mere seconds. The enraged Martin charged the creature with his hands raised with the intention to box. The creature shared no such intention and instead vaulted itself over Martin and propelled them both into the water never to be seen again.

 

After another hour of sailing in near silence the Captain ordered the restraints to be removed.

 

“Sir, should we have a service?” asked the Quartermaster.
“No. We don’t mourn idiots,” answered Greymane. “Especially not ones who fall for such petty insults. We sail on.”     

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