Demmarie Boreland
Stories (2)
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The River Sirens
A chill ran up Myra's spine as she sat beside the river. It wasn't from the tendrils of cold now seeping beneath her skirt, but rather from the melodic "ahhh"s that had begun to fill the air. They started off softly and grew into an earth-shattering crescendo. Myra tightly clutched the wool blanket she had folded in her lap. A commotion began behind her as she faced the setting sun and the one-hundred-foot dam that separated her tribe—the last tribe of humans in all of Endlestin—from the Sirens that craved them. The frantic splashing of men and boys treading through the low-running river impeded on the Sirens' song but couldn't drown it out. Not even when combined with the shouts of mothers and wives and daughters as they followed the herd, staying on the shore and futilely begging their loved ones to snap out of their trances.
By Demmarie Boreland4 years ago in Fiction
