Asexual Pirate Queen

The moon washed over the deck of the ship, a light wind tossing across the waves and casting the smell of salt and seaweed over the moonbeams. Along the polished wood decks stepped men and women, lurching towards the railing with eyes reflecting the white light and looking as depthless as the seas they rode on. Their hands gripped at the railings, and then stretched slowly outwards as they sought to scoop the foam of the ocean into the palms of their hands.

Across the waters came the voices, a burst of song so baleful and melancholic that tears tracked their way down the sailors’ cheeks. The voices begged those on the ship to pity them, to save them, to join them. The men and women leaned over the rails and up rose the serpent-like faces of the sirens. Their song burst from the surface of the water, hitting the open air and turning to shrieks. But the sailors were too far entranced to hear the difference now. They were lost in their tears and their reaching.

At the bow of the ship stood the captain, long elegant fingers meant for the ivory keys of a piano, curled around the red wood of the railing. She too leant over the edge and drew closer to the face of a siren, to the scaled blue-purple skin, and stared into eyes of yellow. The creature reached for her face, brushed webbed fingers over skin black as onyx, and stopped.

Sensual desire fizzled like evaporating water, but something deeper grew within this woman’s heart. “At my side, you could rule the world, my dear,” the pirate captain said to the siren. She pressed her cheek into the webbed hand.

The siren shuddered, her song cutting to a low up. “I-”

“Your crew and mine, taking the seas for our own. Just think of it,” the pirate cooed.  She reached her ebony hand to the blue-purple cheek of the sea-creature and caressed it. “Queens of the Waters, plundering ships and crews to build our own. An armada.”

“Yessss,” the serpentine mouth hissed, her powerful tail flicking to keep her upright in the water. “Ruling over the waters.”

“But I need my crew, my dear.”

“Your crew. Yes.”

“Our crew,” hummed the pirate queen.

The siren shrieked, and the others let go of their chargers, diving back into the waters. She turned a smile up at the pirate queen and pressed back into her proffered hand. Never had a siren fallen pet to a human, but this one was different. This one could churn the waters with a touch, and they would lead armies together. They would seek the mighty Poseidon himself and lay waste to his kingdom.

Progress Takes Time

Day One.

The beeping shocked me from scrolling down the webpage. I blinked and looked around, lost for a moment before settling on my phone. The timer. Right. I picked it up, swiped the alarm away, and got up with a stretch. Bones and joints creaked with protest from the hunched position I’d kept over the keyboard all night. Damn. I’d meant to get some sleep.

The orange bottle with the white cap sat on my kitchen table. I grabbed the thing and turned it over in my hands, listening to the little white tablets clink around inside. It was such a big bottle for such little white pills. Surely they could use something smaller. Or the tablets could be bigger. How could something so small help me?

I fiddled with the top for nearly a minute before managing to get it open and cursed the child-proofing. I was an adult, damn it. I shouldn’t be struggling with it. Fingering a pill out, I popped it in my mouth and dry swallowed it. There was a bitterness on my tongue, but it wasn’t too bad. I’d had worse.

That night, I fell asleep at around 2:00 a.m.

Day Three.

I woke to my alarm, groggy. The world spun a bit when I sat up and groped around for my phone. It was eight, and I needed to be at the therapist by ten. Plenty of time for a bowl of cereal and a shower. Plenty of time for me to cuddle in the blankets just a bit longer and scroll through Facebook.

The phone ringing pulled me from the scrolling and I groaned. 10:15. Dr. Pointier. His name flashed on the screen of my phone and I swallowed the bile in my throat. I let it ring. I let it go to voicemail. I tossed my phone aside and rolled over, closing my eyes tightly until a headache built up.

Day Seven.

I popped the little pill in my mouth, and then slipped on my shoes. Outside it was in the high seventies, a cool breeze was blowing, and clouds drifted across the sun. I inhaled deeply and found I could smell the magnolias my next door neighbor grew out back. It was a five minute walk to Dr. Pointier’s office, and I owed him an apology.

Dana, the office manager for all five doctors in the building, smiled at me when I walked in. I gave a small wave and looked down quickly. She was pretty, and I was- well. Me.

Dr. Pointier said he wasn’t upset, just worried about me. He wanted to make sure everything was okay, and was happy that I had texted him after he had called me. My safety was more important than a missed appointment. I was reminded once more how lucky I was to have found Dr. Pointier. Not everyone got a doctor this great. The ones before him had not been this great.

I promised to check in with him next week and to reschedule. I even happened to tell Dana to have a nice day. I had a feeling I would.

Outside was still bright and happy, and I let some of that inside of myself. It was a good day for a milkshake, so I went to an ice cream shop around the corner and took up a table in the corner and had my treat.

Day Ten.

I slept through my alarm because I had stayed up too late again. But, I had gotten all my homework done, and I had sent off my recent short story to my agent on time. It had been some time since I’ve managed that. I took my pill and decided to go for a walk. Exercise hadn’t been a priority in some time, either.

It was hot out, so the walk was short, but I felt accomplished when I got home. So I did the laundry. And I wrote some to a new story.

Day Fourteen.

I forgot to take my pill. I sat on the couch watching Law and Order all afternoon eating cheetos. A whole bag. I hated myself. I didn’t care. I didn’t text Dr. Pointier. I went to bed at four a.m.

Day Thirty-Two.

I took my pills and went for a jog. I stopped by a smoothie place and gave my number to a cute girl who worked the cash register. She smiled and slipped the paper in her pocket. After lunch, she sent me a text message. I used emojis and she sent gifs.

That night, I finished editing three short stories, sent them to my agent, and texted Dr. Pointier. He wanted me to come into the office tomorrow, so we set a time.

My room smells like magnolias because my next door neighbor, Ophelia, gave me a bunch to keep on my desk. She said she sees me sometimes, sitting at my computer looking like I’m in pain and thought they might help. They do. I invited her to dinner. She brought her sister, Magdalena who lives with her, and a warm casserole.

Day Forty-Six.

The cute girl from the smoothie shop said she has a boyfriend. I broke my favorite mug while unloading the dishwasher.

Day Fifty.

I took my pills and met with Dr. Pointier. He said he wanted to work on some coping mechanisms so that eventually, we can ease off of the pills. I said I wasn’t sure and he smiled.

Day Seventy-Two.

My agent called me. They’re publishing my novel. I took my pills and practiced a deep breathing exercise. I made sure to put my internet on a timer, and I went to bed at 10 p.m.

Day Ninety.

I took my pills. I smiled and meant it.

Lists

I wrote my life into two lists. The “goods” and the “bads”.

List one, “goods”:
Soy milk in my cereal
A puppy in the rain
The broken picture frame
A batgirl nightlight, only $12.95 on e-bay
The dried emerald green ink in the little glass container

List two, “bads”:
My stockings need a drawer of their own
A stack of unread New York Times on the chair in the kitchen
Tea is really the only drink to be had
No scissors allowed in the house, especially pink handled ones
Web comics take up my computer memory
Diet every other month, inconsistently
Lost the goldfish on a walk; he looked bored
Cellphones are government tools
Area 51 is my obsession
Bigfoot isn’t real
My nail polish is ordered alphabetically; there are three rows in the bathroom cabinet
The stain on the kitchen wall is when I threw spinach
I lost my keys for the fourth time this week

They will not love me after I hand them these lists, even if I just hand them the “goods”. I have to give them to them though and I can’t decide if this compelling act goes under good or bad. Maybe they’ll know.