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Based off of this prompt ^^
I enjoyed this story quite a bit, was also pretty proud of how it turned out. This concept is absolutely fascinating to me, so kudos to the original posters ig
TW/CW: Okay, so there's a bit of swearing, HEAVY misogyny/sexism (literal attempted murder of a woman), heavy detail of drowning. Pretty much what you'd expect from the above prompt.
Stay save lovelies <3
Also, call me Lemony Snicket because there is no set time period in this story. It's definitely not modern-day, but from there on you guys can figure it out because idk.
Enjoy the story!
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The scent of the sea flooded my nostrils as I inhaled on that crisp November morning. I remember it well. The shouts of sailors was just barely audible over the crashing of vicious waves, paired with the howling winds of the early morning.
It was just a fishing trip, one of the crew members had told me, to see what they could find near the rocky shores of the nearby town. They hadn't been given permission to fish there, I don't think, however it was far beyond any of them to ask when they could simply... turn up. I don't know if that town even had a law against fishing, to be perfectly honest with you. I think the sailors just tended to base their choices off of their own personal experiences, just as they did with everything else in their lives. Selfish bastards.

Anyway, the trip was going decently; the crew had caught what I believe was called a 'Bluefin Tuna' and it was vast; if one crew member were to stand on the other's shoulders, they would just barely reach its towering height. How they managed to catch it with all of their flitting about the ship, fretting about the oncoming storm, I hadn't the faintest clue.

My husband had insisted that I join the crew on this excursion, though again, I had no inkling as to why, at the time. In hindsight, I can now safely say that he probably thought it would be smart of himself if he were to bring his pretty little wife along to show off to the rest of the crew, parading me around like some kind of animal.
If I remembered correctly, women on ships were seen as liabilities, bad luck if you will. They were said to bring the biggest storms that Poseidon could muster, with waves bigger than mountains and lashing rain like nothing you've seen before. So why I, a woman, was helping with the rigging of masts and such when there were plenty of able-bodied men aboard remained a mystery for quite some time.

Just as I was considering questioning my husband on when exactly this journey would end, a shout rang out from the stern of the boat. I glanced over to see what the problem was, and I had to double-take.
There were huge waves approaching our ship in the distance. Thick, dark grey storm clouds were rolling in, slowly yet surely. The panicked shout clearly came from the captain himself, who was now scrambling to round up all of his shipmates. My husband gave me a comforting look from where he was standing, and beckoned me over to him with one hand. I obliged, hastily making my way over and lacing my hand together with his. Of course I felt panicked, that was entirely normal, however I could sense that it was for a slightly different reason to the rest of the inhabitants of that ship; I knew what may very well happen if that storm were to hit us.

I hear the cracked, grating voice of the captain as he addresses his crew. Saying how the storm was going to hit us side-on and how that could sink the ship if we didn't turn it around, and other such nonsense that I was clueless about.

But then.

Then he said the one thing I was praying he wouldn't.

Of course, I understand the superstition to an extent. And I understand that nobody wants to die. Although, I was hoping that they would also consider the fact that I, too, didn't want to die just yet.

"Ye understand what we 'ave to do, darlin'." I heard him growl out in that awful tone of his. I can feel eyes on me, and I look up to see the entire crew with their eyes locked on me. They appeared to be split into two sides;
The ones who looked on in sympathy, knowing that my stance was clear yet knowing that nothing could be done.
Then, the ones who showed only fear and cowardice, only caring about their own livelihoods, to hell with everyone else's.
I looked to my left, to my husband, for support... only to see that he had fallen into the latter category.

That decision was only confirmed when his hand was bluntly torn away from my own.
He had thrown me away, left me to the dogs as I now stood there with no one left to object for my life, against this barbaric decision that was made so easily by the men standing in front of me.
I was practically in shock.
He was supposed to be my guidance, my other half, my protector. Yet, he couldn't even seem to manage 'human being'.

Despite hardly being able to hear myself, I knew I was screaming. How couldn't I be? I could feel the rawness of my throat already. Tears were streaming down from my eyes like waterfalls, the uncomfortable itching sensation more than prominent as they rolled down my cheeks.
I was being dragged by multiple men, their arms disturbingly present around my own as I struggled desperately. One of them had even managed to tie my legs together whilst I was frozen stiff, which made their job twice as hard, if anything.

It was all so quick, the muffled, empty apologies from the more humane, but then the sickening cheers from the monstrous beasts who called themselves humans.
I looked for my husband one last time, only to become sick to my stomach as I realised that he was one of the men holding my arms behind my back.
I couldn't decide what to feel; betrayal, hatred, desperation and fury were all piercing through my body like daggers, making it difficult to feel anything else.

The last thing I saw was my husband's face. It was impossible to tell what he was feeling in that exact moment, but I no longer cared. Whatever he felt clearly wasn't for my benefit.

Then I was falling.

It felt like a lifetime, despite only being about three seconds. It was the grief that prolonged it, I'd say. Not the grief of being thrown to my death because of some unlikely superstition, but the realisation that no one had tried to prevent it. There were friends on that boat, people who I'd foolishly assumed cared about me. And my husband, who had only aided those men in my demise.

I took one final breath before being plunged into the murky depths of an unforgiving ocean.

Of course, it wasn't long before my reflex to breathe kicked in and I gasped, the bitter taste of salt water instantly filling my mouth. I tried to choke, however that only let more water in. It was an awful feeling, my throat burned with the disgusting taste as I tried to kick my legs and break free, to no avail.
I had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, and all hope was completely lost in my mind.
It was cold, dark, and utterly barren.

But then. Then it all stopped. The water was still there, but it no longer felt like it was suffocating me. The burning was slowly subsiding, though not completely. It was strange. It felt like everything and nothing, all at once.

After a few mere moments, it felt like I was breathing as normal again, despite still being underwater.
Of course, at the time I was terrified.

This must be what dying feels like, I'd assumed miserably.

But when I looked down, that was when my confusion increased tenfold. My legs were no longer tied, however I could no longer call them "legs" either. They had seemingly fused together, looking oddly reminiscent of that Bluefin Tuna the crew had caught earlier on. I tried once again to move my 'legs', only to find that the apparent tail moved instead. I tried again, and was propelled suddenly forward. Those were my legs.
I could scarcely believe it, however this transformation had no time for my confusion, as I screamed in surprise and terror. I recoiled, stunned to be able to make a noise, let alone hear myself.

After taking a few moments to compose myself, I looked up. My vision had also improved, as I could see right through the murkiness of the ocean, right up to the top where the ship was bobbing merrily on the surface.

I smiled.

You know, I've always considered myself to have a lovely singing voice.
Even my ex-husband used to compliment it whenever he heard me reciting a tune. So, of course, as the lovely little wife of his that I am, or was, I made sure to let him hear as much of my singing as possible on that day, saving him until the very end before enchanting him with my sweet songs for the last time. I wonder if he appreciated that little detail. Not as though I care. At that time, I was simply determined to make him feel what I felt; I wanted him to suffer through the fear and desperation that I was forced to endure at his hand.

Despite the hoarse, stinging sensation in my throat, causing my voice to become husky and dark, my voice sounded just as beautiful on that day. And the day after that. And many, many more to come.

People have asked, occasionally, about what happened to me in order for me to become a siren.

Well, this is my story.
And if they need know,
I will gladly tell it.

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Approx 1700 words
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