He remembered the first time he had heard the tale--the Haunting Story of a beautiful woman swallowed by the sea who beckons men with phantom lips to a watery doom--and though he had been but a boy, he had pulsed with heartache. How unfair, he had thought, for such a creature to be lost under the sway of Poseidon. His imagination painted many vast imageries over the years of what she would be like--swirls of cerulean blue, sea foam green with obsidian eyes--and he yearned with curiosity to capture a glimpse of her.
It was no surprise then that, as soon as he was able, he had traded dry land for long nights on rocking wood and sea legs that jellied at ocean born squalls. Wet ropes tore and calloused his young hands, rum became a permanent taste upon his tongue and salt water dripped from his pores. Each night, as the stars glittered above and the lapping waves rocked against the side of weathered wood, he would hang a lantern over the railing of whatever vessel he was on and watch with hope burning in his eyes for signs of the Alma Perdida he could not forget.
Perhaps it was a past forgotten in rebirth that tugged on his own soul towards her. Or maybe he was but a fool wrapped in a fantasy that tethered him to a desire that could never be fulfilled. He cared not, either way. Her figure alone nestled with him each night in his dreams and he could not settle until he knew for certain she was nothing more than the figment of delirious men too long upon the seas or something more.
Then one night, while the merchant vessel he was serving on sailed in waters still as glass more than a day's travel from land in any direction, he heard a voice singing ever so softly into the void around them. With a thunder in his heart he had rushed with his lantern to the ship's railing and practically tossed himself over the edge to cast light onto the murky surface. The soft tones, much like a maiden's hand on a warm spring day, caressed his ears and pulled him slowly along the deck of the vessel--stumbling around barrels, ropes and drunken comrades in his pursuit until he found himself at the stern.
Alone with the melody and rippling wake as the ship moved onward, he twisted and turned from side to side, swaying his lantern, splashing gold across the churning bubbles--yet he saw nothing. Frustration grew as he strained to find the ghostly source, his belly burning and his toes tingling with want for that which he could not see. Surely he was not falling prey to a delusion? He could hear his Captain moving about at the helm, low murmurs from the lookout in the crow's nest yards above--he could even hear the occasional splashing of fish coming up for air or to eat at the insects skirting along the placid waters. He was here, present in this moment, with a woman's voice spilling a tune into the air like dew on moss.
But still he saw nothing. Water lapped, boards creaked and his ragged breathing moved with each heart beat...the only movements that swelled around him. As the minutes passed and the harmony echoed on, he began to wonder.
Is this what they had meant when they had called her a 'Bruja del mar'? Was her song meant to drive him mad until he could stand it no more and toss himself into the depths below? Did she know her lovers before they had ever shown in their parents' eyes and laid out their destiny until she could sweep them off to sea with her? Or was this all a cruel joke of a woman so scorned she cared not whether you heard her call and weeped not a tear when men wasted their lives or drowned in search of her.
As he stood there, rocking with the slightly sway of timber, he felt himself torn between mourning for a thirst he might never quench, and for hope that flickered like embers that his Amante was out there waiting for him to join her.
And he carried that weight onward with him.
Always searching, year after year, for those nights where stillness greeted him with a tragic story that drove him each time closer to madness.
Eventually he sailed on so long and so torn he lost track of where he was going and now did not know if he was even among the living anymore. He sat, staring out into a haze of colors and he tossed one last hope into oblivion. Perhaps one day, his heart fluttered, his tale will stretch upon heart strings like hers had upon his and they would be tangled together in a Fairytale only the lonely can write where earthly waters meet the stars and finally, finally they would be together.
It was no surprise then that, as soon as he was able, he had traded dry land for long nights on rocking wood and sea legs that jellied at ocean born squalls. Wet ropes tore and calloused his young hands, rum became a permanent taste upon his tongue and salt water dripped from his pores. Each night, as the stars glittered above and the lapping waves rocked against the side of weathered wood, he would hang a lantern over the railing of whatever vessel he was on and watch with hope burning in his eyes for signs of the Alma Perdida he could not forget.
Perhaps it was a past forgotten in rebirth that tugged on his own soul towards her. Or maybe he was but a fool wrapped in a fantasy that tethered him to a desire that could never be fulfilled. He cared not, either way. Her figure alone nestled with him each night in his dreams and he could not settle until he knew for certain she was nothing more than the figment of delirious men too long upon the seas or something more.
Then one night, while the merchant vessel he was serving on sailed in waters still as glass more than a day's travel from land in any direction, he heard a voice singing ever so softly into the void around them. With a thunder in his heart he had rushed with his lantern to the ship's railing and practically tossed himself over the edge to cast light onto the murky surface. The soft tones, much like a maiden's hand on a warm spring day, caressed his ears and pulled him slowly along the deck of the vessel--stumbling around barrels, ropes and drunken comrades in his pursuit until he found himself at the stern.
Alone with the melody and rippling wake as the ship moved onward, he twisted and turned from side to side, swaying his lantern, splashing gold across the churning bubbles--yet he saw nothing. Frustration grew as he strained to find the ghostly source, his belly burning and his toes tingling with want for that which he could not see. Surely he was not falling prey to a delusion? He could hear his Captain moving about at the helm, low murmurs from the lookout in the crow's nest yards above--he could even hear the occasional splashing of fish coming up for air or to eat at the insects skirting along the placid waters. He was here, present in this moment, with a woman's voice spilling a tune into the air like dew on moss.
But still he saw nothing. Water lapped, boards creaked and his ragged breathing moved with each heart beat...the only movements that swelled around him. As the minutes passed and the harmony echoed on, he began to wonder.
Is this what they had meant when they had called her a 'Bruja del mar'? Was her song meant to drive him mad until he could stand it no more and toss himself into the depths below? Did she know her lovers before they had ever shown in their parents' eyes and laid out their destiny until she could sweep them off to sea with her? Or was this all a cruel joke of a woman so scorned she cared not whether you heard her call and weeped not a tear when men wasted their lives or drowned in search of her.
As he stood there, rocking with the slightly sway of timber, he felt himself torn between mourning for a thirst he might never quench, and for hope that flickered like embers that his Amante was out there waiting for him to join her.
And he carried that weight onward with him.
Always searching, year after year, for those nights where stillness greeted him with a tragic story that drove him each time closer to madness.
Eventually he sailed on so long and so torn he lost track of where he was going and now did not know if he was even among the living anymore. He sat, staring out into a haze of colors and he tossed one last hope into oblivion. Perhaps one day, his heart fluttered, his tale will stretch upon heart strings like hers had upon his and they would be tangled together in a Fairytale only the lonely can write where earthly waters meet the stars and finally, finally they would be together.
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