They stood at the bow of their ship, staring at the beautifully tempestuous Sirens lying on the isle shore singing their sickly sweet serenades. Tempting though they may be to men, the vengeful crew of brides and widows had little difficulty in unloading their muskets upon them. Metal slings pierced the demons’ bodies, tearing flesh from bone, and the lustful songs turned sour and into a high-pitched screeching of panic and despair. Never once thinking what would happen if their irresistible tunes failed blood drenched the sands beneath them, as what few survivors took to the sea to try escaping the onslaught. Volley after volley of shrapnel and the curses of women rained upon them. The sea offered them hope – which was cruel for the women to do – as the fishing nets enveloped all fleeing to safety. Once full, the nets were dragged aboard before trident and swords were plunged into them like the fishmonger’s catch. The commander of the ship, Captain Rose still in her wedding gown, surveyed the crimson stained shore. Putrid stench of slaughtered flesh began to waft as they moored the ship onto the small island. Searching, they ousted and burned every single Siren they could find. Even little guppies and frail old ones were not spared. Brides and widows as merciless and relentless as the sea itself. Gods knew these sirens never spared a single son, husband, or father – so why would the women spare any of them? Searching still, they found the bones of their loved ones. And the trinkets they left behind – an old watch, a pendant, a gold ring, a handkerchief, a small engraved knife. The women re-took these spoils of love and war. That heaviness of the heart may never lift but no more men would fall to Sirens’ songs.
***Please Note: This Macrofiction was based off Microfiction #34 (shown above) based on popular vote.