Young Writers Society

Her back is facing me as she looks toward the sea. She's standing still; unmoving as if she were a mere statue. My eyes start to scan my surroundings. I cannot make out a specific location except to say that I was on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

My gaze returns to the woman who continues to stand motionless; keeping her eyes fixed on the dark horizon. I call out to her, but words fail me as she remains oblivious to my presence. So instead I stand quiet, and watch as midnight colored curls sway gently by her waist. The moon begins to cast a fiery glow across her pale skin. An eerie silence whispers a threatening chill down my spine. I feel as if time has stopped altogether. And then all of a sudden, out of the woman's mouth, reveals the most beautiful voice to ever fall upon my ears:

"Ruthless winds and raging seas,

who have stolen my true love.

Many tears I've shed for you,

oh please come back to me."

A voice so lovely it would have the power to calm storms and wage peace between mortal enemies. I would have died a thousand times to hear that sweet hypnotic melody again. Who is this woman? Every ounce of my body willed this enchanting figure to look at me. As if she could sense the magnetic pull pulsing through me, she starts to turn so I may look upon her face.

But before I am able to see her, I awake in my lumpy worn out bed in sheets drenched with sweat. My heart is hammering against my chest and I'm breathing wildly as if I had been running from the devil himself.

The sunlight streaming through the cracks of the broken down window start to burn my eyes open wider, and I start to hear the faint sound of bustling tables down below the tavern. It takes me a good five minutes to realize that it was morning and that I had awaken from a dream.

After recovering my equilibrium, I head downstairs to receive instruction from my employer and caretaker Mr.Silver. Today's chores was easy enough: collect the empty bottles, sweep the floor, wipe the tables, and take inventory of the rum. I begin to walk behind the bar to grab the broom and assume the sweeping motion; making sure to catch all the dust from under the tables.

But the events from my dream distract my concentration, as I catch myself dozing off in a dusty spider webbed corner. The urge to talk about it caused a nagging sensation in the back of my mind and promised not to cease unless I opened my mouth. In an effort to quiet this persistent feeling, I decide to tell Mr.Silver about the bizarre woman.

"Tis a warning James me boy," he said after confiding in him.

A pudgy finger is waved in front my face as a thick white mustache starts to curl up unto his lips. "Nothing more dangerous than a woman with a voice like an angel. She'll use it to lure you down to the depths of hell."

I roll my eyes at his words of caution. I should have known he was going to divulge some mystic mumbo jumbo. Mr.Silver has always been a somewhat superstitious bastard; believing in the unknown and mysterious. And it was because of these other worldly beliefs, he developed a reputation for being the most entertaining storyteller in Port Royal. The men enjoyed hearing his tales of mermaids sinking ships, giant sea monsters taking sailors down to Davy Jones locker, and sirens so alluring that if you were to look upon them, you would surely die. He had a way of making you feel like you were far off in the world instead of having a drink in his rusty old tavern.

I nod at Mr.Silver's warning and pretend that it was the answer I was looking for. Quietly, I resume my chores. As I continue to sweep under the tables, my mind begins to conjure up the time when I first became acquainted with this superstitious man.

You see I grew up without a father, and I have a vague memory of my mother. She died when I was seven and was left on my own ever since. It wasn't until I was ten years old when I stumbled upon Mr.Silver's establishment; a small brown building with two doors at the entrance and three barred windows on the side.

The loud commotion and smell of strong liquor emanating from inside aroused my curiosity. And before I knew it, my feet had started to make their way toward the doors. A burst of thick smoke from burning cigars clung to my body as I entered. My eardrums vibrated from the cackling sounds of laughter that echoed throughout the room. I was surrounded by hoards of grimy faced men with silver filled mouths; all of them too preoccupied with their rum and whiskey to spare a small dirt covered child a second glance.

A growling pain howled deep within the pit of my stomach as a result of starvation for three days. Desperate for a meal, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity of seeming invisible and pick pocketed some of the drunkards. I would have gotten away with it had Mr.Silver not chosen that moment to walk around his bar. I thought for sure he was gonna strip my hide and chop my hands off. But to my surprise, he was amazed by how much loot I had taken for a boy my age. So he did what any business man would do; he bargained a place for me stay in exchange for the use of my thieving abilities.

For a child with no parents, no money, and no shelter, his offer was that compared to a man spared from the gallows. I took it without hesitation. Its been eight years since I've accepted Mr.Silver's arrangement and life was good. I had a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food in my belly, salty wenches at my disposal, and all the rum a man could want thanks to the tavern.

"James lad come here," Mr.Silver snapped in an authorative tone.

I was immediately brought back to reality and I place the broom against a yellow stained wall. "Yes Mr.Silver," I respond, as I turn to face the portly old man and my only friend.

"I want ye to go out again. And this time find me something good."

"Ay," I answer obidiently. As I walk out the tavern and head toward the slums, my mind begins to summon images of the captivating woman from this morning. "Don't be a fool James. She's not real. She doesn't exist", I tell myself gruffly. I begin to distract my thoughts and allow the dream to slip out of my head, along with the memory of the spell binding voice that had managed to pierce my very soul.

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