Listen to the author reading this story:
When the low tide ebbed so far, it almost touched the horizon, Lorelei hungered for a gentle soul to feed her ego, her insecurities. A gentle soul to shoulder the weight of the dark-thought pebbles she carried in her pockets. Her cravings demanded to be soothed. She scanned the crowds for potential prey and soon got lost in his turquoise eyes — inviting her to drown in their tumultuous depths — and smelt nothing but his briny sweat, reminding her of the bottom of the ocean. Reminding her of home.
The flood tide hesitates between up and down, going back and forth, as Lorelei turns into an emotional tsunami and her words mumble and jumble and crash like waves against his rocky attitude. But he ignores her melody, remains unmoved by her presence as she lets her finger linger on his right arm for a few seconds, and inebriates herself with his scent.
The high tide will return, and cover the beach with foam and spray and seaweed and play with the pebbles, toy with her thoughts, but Lorelei’s mood will cloud with gale-force anger rising from her tailbone to her stomach, to her throat. The siren will turn into a banshee, and her voice will get so out of tune, she’ll screech and screech and screech. But all he’ll hear are the cicadas. He’ll be drawn to their sweet melody, their joy, their laughter, their silliness — their youth will sing louder. Because even sirens will age eventually, and lose their beguiling voices after too many tides.
Delphine Gauthier-Georgakopoulos is a Pushcart-nominee Breton writer, teacher, mother, nature and music lover, foodie, dreamer. She is a contributor to Poverty House, co-founder of The Pride Roars, and the EIC of Raw Lit. Her debut historical novel Laundry Day was a Novel Fair Runner-up. She lives in Athens, Greece.
Find out more at: https://delphinegg.weebly.com/
Love this moody, poetic piece, Delphine.