He had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten here. All he knew was that he felt alone, frightened and damp. Swallowing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him he looked around, desperate to find some clue as to where he was. Unfortunately no clue was given as he struggled to see past the blood-matted hair that hung in his eyes and the pre-dawn mist that surrounded him.
He had to be somewhere, that was a given. And he couldn’t have been here long as the blood on his forehead was still a little damp. This realization forced him to take a pause, his brow furrowing even as he winced at the pain this caused. There was blood in his hair and on his forehead, so he must have some sort of injury. But where had it come from? What had caused it? It seemed that every step he took towards logic, three questions pushed him back towards panic. But wasn’t that always the way of things. He’d never been a pessimist before, but at the moment he could not deny the bitterness that filled him. Where was he?
It was nearly an hour before he devised a new plan, the bitterness replaced by a need to do something, anything, to sort out what had happened to him. With a mumbled prayer he stood as he brushed himself off, only to discover a large gash along his left calve as well as a series of small slices and scrapes along his thigh and up his side. And if the searing pain in his arm was any indication, he had dislocated...something during his ordeal, whatever that ordeal had been. Feeling more morose by the second he slowly began to trudge forward through the foliage that surrounded him, trying desperately to ignore the limp his injuries caused. Wherever he’d found himself, it certainly seemed to be deserted, a fact that only added to the growing sense of hopelessness.
What had he done, what had happened to him, to result in such a situation? He had been, for as long as he could remember, a good god-fearing man. He did not drink or gamble, was honest and respectful, and attended mass every Sunday and all holy days. He said his prayers at night and slept with a bible next to his bed. Surely his life of holy reverence would guarantee him his lord’s guardianship, would it not? Surely his lord would not abandon him without some sign of hope, of direction.
Then, as though the very being he thought of heard his prayers, he found it, his salvation. Barely a meter separated them, his own thoughts distracting him until she appeared before him, almost as a vision. Her head was tilted slightly towards him, a small sad smile playing on her lips as he gazed at her, sweat causing dirt and old blood to trickle down his face. He was certainly a mess but she, she was not. There was a light sheen of perspiration on her, and the glow that seemed to surround her was nothing more than the early morning light. Her hair was long and thick, though the humidity surrounding them caused it to frizz, giving her an almost halo effect. She was clearly a normal woman, though he could not imagine why she was out in this wildness alone.
He was about to speak when the melancholic look in her eyes forced him to stop. She was gazing at him as though she knew all of the things that plagued him, had plagued him all his life. It was unnerving to say the least but he had faith and so, unsure of what else to do, he stood still, staring at her and wondering. He did not have to wait long before she turned, taking one step towards him and with a gentle move, brushed the hair from his face. Each movement she made was sad and slow, as though weighed down by the very sight of his injuries.
They stood like that for several long moments, locked in the others gaze, one sad and tired, the other lost and afraid. It was abrupt when it ended, fatigue quickly making itself known as he collapsed to his knees. He had been through quite a bit, and the injury to his leg certainly couldn’t have held him up much longer. With a sigh he closed his eyes tightly, not noticing the sad smile that ghosted across her features once more. With a desperate thought sent up to God he finally broke the silence, his voice echoing around them.
“Tell me what to do.”
And so she began to sing, the words becoming the ones he prayed for, her voice haunting and seducing, hitting every nerve she so desired. His eyes grew heavy as the melody wrapped around him, his limbs seemingly distancing themselves from him. How had he lived before this moment, before she’d granted him the chance to savour such a sound, such an experience? He saw her as divine, gracious and merciful. For who, other than, a heavenly angel would allow him, him, to hear those notes.
But she, she knew the truth. She was no angel, no divine being come to grant him mercy and kindness. The entrancing rhythm that pulled him in was not a gift, but a curse. Her voice lifted, surrendering golden notes in soprano, light and as gentle as a new feather’s touch. Each tone was clear and airy and perfect, designed to make him complacent and gentle; designed to make him an easy prey.
But, this was no divine gift. It was nothing more than a Siren’s song, lulling him beneath a predators gaze.
Created: Jun 06, 2010Document Media