Siren

Flight

Haunting, drawn out notes echoed through the night.  A figure perched upon a long ago abandoned bridge drew a bow across the strings of a violin, pulling mournful yet hypnotic tunes from the instrument.

There was not a soul around, human or otherwise, for them to be playing for and yet they were. Tails and the sharp fins of Siren splashed in the water mere inches below their dangling limbs. And I say there was not a soul around because the commonly held belief is that Siren don't have souls. 

The creatures calmed when the violinist began to sing in a hauntingly captivating voice.

"Non ne le jugez pas, vous qui ne le connaissez pas. Les vertiges et le labeur. Vous êtes faussement heureux, vous troquez vos valeurs. Lui il est tout mon mond. Et bien plus que ça. Seule je crie son nom, quand vient le désarroi. Et puis tout s'effondre. Quand il n'est plus là
J'aimerais tellement lui dire. Mais je n'ose pas. Lui qui me fait, Tourner dans le vide vide. Tourner dans le vide vide. Tourner dans le vide il me fait tourner dans le vide vide vide. Tourner tourner dans le vide, tourner dans le vide il me fait tourner, tourner dans le vide, tourner dans le vide, tourner dans le vide, tourner dans le vide."

In the dark, previously silent night, his voice rang out. He was a Siren, no doubt, and if his voice left room for doubt those doubts were cleared as if by fire when one saw the icy shine of his tail and the fins ribbing his back.

He had learnt French from a friend, a friend whom he had not seen in weeks. Watching the creatures below him clear out as his song ended, he left the instrument laying on the abandoned bridge and slipped back into the water.

The area he now frequented was just offshore from Hawaii; a long stretch from Alaska but he'd made it. No other creatures but a few Siren-human hybrids roamed the little land that remained, so he never had to worry about his instrument's safety. The hybrids were the ones he played for, afterall; his own little band of misfits.

Not to say he liked any of them. They were all far too easily swayed by the more animalistic side of their instinct; snapping and clawing him when he approached without his song to sate them.

He dove down, swimming off with no intent of ever returning. Let the hybrids miss him. He would have forever to come back and play for them, as a full blooded Siren he could never truly die; Siren are immortal.