Siren Nightby MetaSkipperChaptersSunsetDuskMidnightDawnSunriseSunsetSonata ran. It had been a week since that fateful day. Since that end to the Battle of the Bands. She had just been kicked out of the house by Adagio and Aria. Something about being stupid and being the worst and ruining their plans. She didn’t bother to remember. She didn’t know where she was running to, nor did she care. And so she ran. Eventually, her body gave way, and she collapsed onto a bench, slouching. She tried to breath in between her sobs. The sun began to dip into the horizon; the sky began to darken. She hardly noticed. Why, she wondered. Why had they shattered her pendants, taken away her singing? Sure, she had planned to take over the world and enslave all of humanity with it, but it was her singing! She was a siren! She sang! She sat there, crying. Ever since that day, she couldn’t carry a tune. She was off-key, off-beat, and off on her own. But in that moment, she didn’t care. Suddenly, she composed herself, sniffling. She sat up. She sang. Because that was what sirens do. She sang the old songs. Even now, she remembered her first songs. The songs of manipulation and hatred. The songs that had almost taken over this world. She opened her mouth, and out came a broken voice. She saw ponies fighting amongst themselves, empowering her songs even more. She remembered the taste of hatred, the scent of paranoia, the sensation of dissent. Memories were all she had now. She saw herself, her only companions for a thousand years, strutting in a cafeteria. Her voice sounded akin to an un-tuned piano, a violin wound too tight. She saw a crowed enthralled, her true form revealed. Even the scraps of arguing would have sated her, if only for a while. But even such lowly things were beyond her reach. But she tried anyway. Out of foolishness or determination, she did not know, nor care. She started to shake, twitch, just a little. Her song would have driven away any living being that could hear, and even a few that couldn’t, with her singing. But there was no one to hear her. And she sang. Her tune changed. Her songs were no longer about others but herself. She sang a cry for her old life back, a cry for her ability to sing, to enthrall once more. The old songs still echoed in her mind, but they were fading. They had been fading for a week now. She didn’t want to believe it. She tried again, tried to sing the songs that had been her life since time immemorial. But her voice failed her, and she opened her mouth, and all she heard was silence. Desperate, she started to cry for anything, anything at all to make her day better. Tears ran through her makeup and stain her clothes, or perhaps it had started to rain, or maybe she had finally snapped and was drooling in her delirium. She could not tell, nor did she care to try. No longer could she sit straight. She heaved over, arched back. Her voice, her song became primal, instinctual… beautiful. Not the beautiful that earns standing ovations, or the beautiful that gets a crowd to sing along, or the beautiful that transforms into half-ponies. It was the beautiful that reminds a child of a mother’s heartbeat, that demands that you feel a chill run through you. But there was no one to hear her. And she sang. She kept singing. The sun had long since set, and the stars shone above. She had long since stopped singing anything that resembled words. Thoughts, concepts, vocalizations, but not words or phrases. In her voice, she reached out, tried to grab something, anything that she could dream for, but it always slipped between her fingers, always merely an illusion to tease her. A friend, a warm bed, a little duckling riding a taco. Wait, what? There it was – a little ducking, clad in sailor hat, sailing a fish taco in a sea of salsa. Even through a storm of shredded sharp cheddar and waves of ground beef, that taco boat sailed on. And it looked mighty tasty, too. The spontaneity, the comedy of it all took her. Her former friends… no, her former companions, would probably have scolded her for such a silly thought. But they weren’t here. They couldn’t see what she saw. Her song was still that primal cry, but now it was lighter, happier. A little bell rang, but could only be heard if you believed. And she dared believe. First it was a giggle in between the notes. Then out slipped a chuckle. Then, laughter; pure, childish laughter. Her singing and laugher became one. She was hopping up and down on that bench, and only heaven above knows why she was not leaping, dancing, twirling. She didn’t need words. Words would have limited her vision, her story of that little duckling, her story about herself. She had to tell that story, to anyone and everyone that would, no, could hear her. But there was no one to hear her. And she sang. In the morning, she would be found by a girl who had come to school early because her “Pinkie Intuition” told her to. She would be found, collapsed and snoring, on a bench on the way to school. She would be offered a change of change of clothes, an ear to hear her story. She would try to share it, and find her voice lost. She would try to pantomime it, and fail, fail quite miserably. But the details of her story would not be that important, not in the grand scheme of life. She would find a friend to laugh with. She would sit with that girl, later that day, at lunch. She would sit with that girl, and her friends, at lunch. But for now, she sang about a duckling sailor in a fish taco boat. And she remembered what it is to enjoy singing. Author's Note If there's one thing I learned from this exercise, it is that descriptive writing is hard. EDIT: And writing properly is harder. DuskAria grumbled. It had been two weeks since Sonata started hanging out with them. She still lived with them, but it always seemed like she was sleeping over at one of their houses every other night. Even when she stayed the night, she always grabbed her dinner, and went to her room. Speak of the devil, Sonata popped in through the front door. Aria turned her head, and watched as whatever smile that had been on Sonata’s face disappeared. Again, Sonata grabbed a couple slices of pizza, and headed for her room. She looked across the table to Adagio, who gave a shrug and scowl as she took a bite of her own slice of pizza. Most of the dinner table discussion had been started by Sonata, usually by saying something stupid, and needing Aria or Adagio to correct her. This was doubly true since they took their voices away, and neither Aria nor Adagio were ever in the mood for small talk since that. Without Sonata, there was no need for words. And so the two sirens ate in silence before retiring for the night. Aria sat onto her bed, and looked out the window. The sun had since set beneath the horizon, but the faintest light of dusk still peeked. She couldn’t afford to be up this late. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she had work. Work. Work hadn’t been something they’d really had to do before that. Now, they had to scrape a living together. They managed… somehow. She laid down, but sleep refused to take her. She tossed and turned, but sleep eluded her. Grumbling, she sat up, and did the only thing she could think of. She sang. Because that is what sirens do. She tried to sing the old songs. Those songs that had been her lifeblood, her sustenance. But they sounded awful now, another bitter reminder of that. Images of a booing, jeering crowd flashed before her, echoed in her mind. Yet she still heard those beautiful voices, that siren song, but it mocked her, dared her to sing it once more. Each dissonance, difference in notes seemed to fill the room. Those smooth, sweet, sinister vocals rang from behind an un-tuned violin. She sang the songs that once sowed discord, but now a new song played over it in her mind. Their song. Now, she cannot hear the songs of the past, not even in her memories. She tried to hear them again, so that she may try to sing them again, but it was of no use. There was a new song there. A song of unity, duty, and destiny. One that spoke of joy in friendship. How she hated that song. It blasted over their legacy, their masterpiece. Her legacy, her masterpiece. Her song turned against her fellow sirens. Her voice turned shrill, stabbing, a violin whose bow ran across faster than the eye could see. Stupid Sonata, ruining their plans, and now she had the gall to hang out with them? Mooch off of them? That freeloading… not that Adagio was any better. Adagio just stayed at home and plotted. Adagio worked only on the weekends, while Aria worked every day of the week. Not like Adagio’s plans had worked out, as Aria’s terrible singing voice reminded her. Her song took on an audible grimace, a musical grunt of frustration. Impossibly, she sang harder, faster. She was the one who worked after school and on the weekends to make sure they could still live in this apartment. She stamped her foot. The violin fell to the floor; it cracked, splintered; its strings snapped. In fact, she had been the one to pay for the pizza tonight. She cooked or paid for dinner every night. And yet Adagio had the nerve to still order her around, tell her what to do, do for her own- No. She was not Adagio’s pawn anymore. She did not need her anymore. If Sonata, silly Sonata, the worst Sonata, could break free of Adagio’s shadow, then she could. Her tune changed. She sang of her own plans for greatness, her goals in life. Vaguely, she knew she would have to achieve them the hard way. Somewhere in her mind reminded her that she could enthrall no longer. She was not even totally sure what her goals were. World domination had always been Adagio’s dream for the sirens. Not hers, not her dream as a siren. But that was nothing right now. Right now, her voice soared, soared as high as her new ambitions. There was no band or orchestra behind her, no backup vocals or fellow singers. She did not need them, never again. She sang a melody, a proud melody. She sang that the same melody again and again, each time a little more decorated, flourished. She built on that melody, built a song around that melody. It sounded bold, proud… beautiful. Part of her dared not believe it, that she could sing again. In any other moment, she could not have sung, would not believe it. But here, now, she believed. And she sang. Vaguely, it registered in her mind that, across the hall, Sonata was singing too. In the morning, she would wake up, prepare herself, and go to work. She would stand at a register as she always did. She would see Sonata with them during her lunch break. She would refuse to sit with them. She would concede after Sonata’s persistent pestering and begging. She would hear the sky-high ambitions of the one with the rainbow hair. She would hear an earful of mistrust from the rainbow-haired one. She would return to work, and finish her shift. She would think about her. Not them, her. About how not so different they were. Perhaps they… were really just them. She would contemplate the usefulness of a rival, of rivals for her to measure her singing. But for now, she sang about her new identity, her newfound freedom. And she remembered what it is to sing your own song. Author's Note I don't quite know how this Aria came about. The idea of "independent Aria" was always there, but it somehow morphed into something sounding a bit more evil than I initially saw. I also don't know where the idea of "single working mom Aria" came from. It just ended up writing itself that way. My one regret is that I didn't give Sonata the chapter titled "Dusk." MidnightAdagio flopped onto her bed. It hadn’t been a full day since Aria started talking with those damned Six. She and Sonata had gone out for the night. They hadn’t said where, but it was no secret. They were hanging out with those damned Rainbooms. Probably were sleeping over, given how late it was. She lazily rolled her head to the side. Just about midnight. She let out some strange cross between a grunt and a sigh. Not even a day. It hadn’t taken a full day for Aria to abandon her. By the songs, the three had been together long since before recorded history, countless millennia, and before a month was over, the two had left her. Left her over one failure. Left her for the very people that ruined them all. Had they been friends? Far from it. But surely, assuredly there had been something, some sense of kinship that had bound them together? Clearly not. She grimaced. Those two didn’t know how good they had it. Sonata was a ditz, a klutz; she couldn’t understand the magnitude of what happened if she tried. Aria was always second fiddle to her, needed her to actually come up with the schemes that had kept the three alive. They could blame her, point to her as the cause of their troubles. They could leave her, leave whatever parts of their identity they didn’t like with her. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t run from her failures, her mistakes. She could never un-see how close they had been. Her fists clenched, her nails dug into her palms. Her masterpiece had but one stain, one tarnish. That one smear had consumed it all. Her great failure hung in front of her, dangled, on a loop of rope, hanging from the ceiling. It dared her to chase it, to try to grab it. In her heart, she smells embers and sparks. She lay there. There was nothing to be done. So she sung. Because that will always be what sirens do. She sung the old songs. The songs of hate, of malice. The songs of a time long since forgotten. She sung them perfectly. An eternal flame crackles. She had sung these songs before she was born into the world. They could not be taken from her. She would not, could not let go of them. The song rang perfectly in her mind. The same song rang hollow in her ears. The same song wreaked havoc on her throat. She tried to lie to herself, as she had lied to many others with her voice. But her voice betrayed her. And through it all, she sung. Her thoughts turned to the Rainbooms. That damned band had taken everything from her. She hated them. Hate was too good for them; it implied that her dislike was merely emotional. No, her distaste ran deeper than her own soul, the soul they had torn from her and dared to shatter before her own eyes. She knew this song by now. She had sung it countless times since that day. That flame was now a fire, burning deep inside her, begging for fuel. And through it all, she sung. Why had she come? If that princess hadn’t come, they would have been powerless to stop them, stop her. She hated her. Why had she even made the band in the first place? She shot up, slammed her fists into the bed. She quivered, eyes slammed shut, a cry, a roar of rage now weaved into her song. Stupid rainbow girl’s ego should have destroyed that band anyway. She hated her. And why had she even been let into the band? Not six months ago she had torn the school asunder, emotionally and physically, she hated her. Somehow she could still sing, sing faster, harder. That fire was now a blaze that consumed the room, consumed her as she yet stoked it more, threw more wood on that fire. And she thought she was all that, thought she could make it without her and she had stage fright, should never have been able to stand, and she had been wearing headphones, who wears headphones all the time and and she hated her had no fashion sense and he was just a dumb dog and and and she had almost given everything away she hated her and and and – … Silence. She fell to her bed, slammed into it. She smothered her own flame as she fell. Her breathing could not slow. But she was tired, so tired. She couldn’t be angry, not anymore. Her song faded in between the gasps and exhales. Her eyelids drooped, but did not close. With each breath went out more of her energy, her rage. Could she not have rest? Could she not see the end of her suffering? She had lost her voice, her strength… her… her… friends. Everything. Gone. Because of them. She opened her eyes. She saw her way out. It hung from the ceiling. She swatted at it lazily, watched it swing back and forth. Swing like a pendulum. Like a metronome, the faintest woosh keeping time. It beckoned to her, to give her sleep, the sleep she so desperately craved now. She saw the knives in the kitchen, saw the painkillers in the cabinet, faint images floating above her bed. There were not even embers now. She tried to sing, for what, she did not even know, but nothing would come. In the morning, she would go to school. She would walk the halls of that cursed school. She would feel the angry stares of the classmates she once had wrapped around her finger. She would grab her food. She would see, at the far table, Sonata and Aria with them. She would sigh, and take her place at the edge of the table, next to Sonata. They would barely glance at her. Sonata and Aria would spare a few words in her direction. She would come home alone. She would go into her room. There would be nothing hanging from the ceiling. But for now, she closes her eyes and lets out one last sigh. And she will sing no more. Author's Note It's funny. This piece was supposed to be less angry, more bitter, and less resigned than it came out. Looking at it now, though, I think I like how this angle on Adagio feels. My apologies for that dreadful chunk of grammar and formatting. It was a choice between style and grammar, and alas, poor Yorick, style won this time. DawnSonata guffaws. Aria presses her hand into her forehead. Adagio rolls her eyes with a smirk. It has been weeks since the sirens had all sat around a dinner table together, just the three. Before them is a chicken, now all torn apart, the remains upon three plates, some more full of bones than others. A mess of cinnamon sugar and crumbs graces Sonata’s plate. It also graces a good bit of the rest of the table. Sonata never was good at holding back her laughter. The sight is enough to compel Sonata into an impromptu squeeze of Aria, who rewards her with a huff and some mix of a push and hug in return. Something about spending too much time with a pink-haired nutcase. Something about how they’re changing her, and not for the better. Sonata stops laughing, starts bristling. Now Adagio has started as well. Something about the three having to stick together, being the only true kinship they have. Something about how only they care about her, truly care. Sonata, for perhaps once in her life, is furious. They dare make fun of the people who took her in, gave her something new? The girl who found her by more than chance, who understands her like no other? Part of her still dimly fears retribution, still feels too naïve to talk back. But that pales now to her newfound confidence in something she may not fully grasp, but can still feel. The chair slides out from under her. Now she is on her feet, salsa bubbling around her. Aria’s eyes widen slightly. The balloons have been popped, and replaced with blades of steel and bows of horse hair. No longer is this the old silly Sonata. No longer is the pecking order intact. Someone dares challenge her claim, her right to authority. And Aria never backs away from a challenge. Her eyes narrow. The shouting continues, until Sonata drops the hammer. And sings. She reaches in, tries to find that primal spark, that cry that started her journey. She finds it, grasps it, and dares not let go. Her voice is sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and soda pop. She gazes up, not at the ceiling, but beyond. She sees wonders beyond comprehension, glories beyond words, joys beyond emotion. Is it a vision or a sugar rush? She can’t tell. It makes no difference to her. She has no words, there are no words. But there is music, a song, and she sings. She reaches out, tries her best to describe the indescribable. For all the things she can see, she can’t see her mouth curve up as she sings. But as she sings, she does see someone. It’s almost like looking into a mirror. She has something in her now; what it is, she does not know, nor care. She has no need for words, not here, not now. It’s not about proving a point, about proving them wrong, not anymore. This is about reminding herself about her new song, that she still can sing, that she now has a reason to sing, a smile. How dare she, wave her singing in front of her. How dare she presume that she, Aria, she still lies as broken as she was on that fateful day. Aria stands herself, and sings her own song. She hushes the musicians with her voice. It rises above the drabble, the plebian. It is a relentless declaration of something, each repetition sprouting a new branch, a new flourish. She stands before not Sonata, but an audience, a crowd. They will judge her, pick at her, search for any weakness. They will find none. They will cite her history, her past, her failures. She will wash those away, wipe her slate clean. She will make sure of it. The past has been written, the book has been shelved. It is time to start anew. This isn’t about Sonata, about that impudent upstart anymore. Sonata is the target of her song, of her glorious vocalizations, but not the goal. Aria’s dreams are still but clouds and colors, but even the greatest of stars are born from the stellar dust. Even the smallest specks of dust still glimmer in the light. And Aria will have the spotlight on her. Adagio is frozen. She can’t break up this fight, not with a glare or wave. Whatever authority she once had is gone. Her voice may be broken, but her ears are not, and she can hear the beauty of the songs of her fellow sirens. But they overlap in all the wrong places, construct dissonances where there should be harmonies. The medium may have changed, the tempo and tonality, but before her is still a shouting match, a crude vocal brawl. She cannot sing. But she must still cling to the order of old, must try to remind them who is in charge here. She has only ever done it one way. She stands, joins in the vocal bludgeoning. Her voice is still off-key, embarrassingly so in the face of her fellow sirens. Mercifully, neither seem to have noticed her yet. She keeps singing, struggling. She will not see those two fight any longer. She will remind them about everything they’ve been through, everything she has led them through. She reaches out to them. This isn’t just about the old order. This is about keeping the only two companions, maybe friends, she has ever had. Somewhere, the fire in her wakes up. Her song turns authoritative, commanding… beautiful. Suddenly, Aria and Sonata are silent. They turn and listen to her beckon them to her once more. No! She will never be under her rule ever again. Aria shouts, sings back, refusing Adagio’s cry. Adagio replies in kind with a scathing chord. Back and forth, the tones fly. Sonata will not be forgotten as the grown-ups talk. She will be respected as an equal. She screams, sings into the arguing pair. The two turn on her for perhaps a second, before verbally shoving each other. Dissonance reverberates around the table. The Sirens are no more. Now three sirens stand around a table, trying to climb a ladder that isn’t there, ascend a staircase that is only an illusion. Each tone is another upward grasp, another reaching step. So focused on what lies above that they cannot see they are trampling one another. Adagio takes a step too far and stumbles, falls flat. Aria plants her foot on top of Adagio’s posterior, only to be yanked down by the hair as Sonata climbs another imaginary rung. But her feet find no footing, and she falls as Adagio rises. Similar thoughts echo through all their minds. Fear of being left behind. A broken amulet, a long shadow. Sessions hidden away in a bathroom or bedroom, trying to reclaim what was lost. They have tasted song again, and they will not let it be taken away again. Their thoughts, their songs, now turn squarely about each other, at each other. Visions are forgotten, dreams fade from sight, unity is left by the wayside. But the singing continues. They cannot hear the singing deteriorate, not against the already mismatched notes. They still jostle against one another, pushing and shoving and grabbing and – Adagio is the first to notice. Her voice no longer rings, no longer shines. Soon enough, she sees in the others’ eyes that they’ve noticed. The singing, shouting match winds down, but no breath slows. With a cross of a huff and a humph, Sonata storms out. Slowly, Aria and Adagio take their seats once more, resume eating their food. Silence haunts the dinner table. Aria looks down at her food. The cinnamon sugar sprinkled around the table. The unattended plate. Adagio. The empty seat. The open door. Adagio’s eyes. They come to a mostly silent agreement. They rise and walk out the door. They find her on a park bench on the way to school, sitting. Not quite crying, not quite composed. They find her silent. She turns to face their footsteps, their faces. Silently, she stands, and walks home alongside them. The sky has the faintest glow of dawn. In the afternoon, they will wake up. They will not bother dressing themselves. It will be Saturday. They will have the day off. They will mull about the house in silence. Sonata will plop in front of the couch. Aria will sit down on the couch. Adagio will lie across the couch. The television will be off. They will gaze into the blank screen, deep in thought. Sonata will suddenly suggest a party. Aria will mention how she’s spending too much time with that pink-haired girl. Adagio will fail to realize she is holding her breath. They will order pizza and cheap Chinese takeout. They will sit around a dinner table. But for now, they walk. And they remember they are not alone. Author's Note A bit longer. Had to get some actual narration in there. Also had to write about three sirens instead of one. This is not the end quite yet. If sunset is part of the night, then so is sunrise, dang it. The original title of this story was Songs of the Sirens. Once I came up with the whole "night" thematics, it became Nights of the Sirens. It then morphed into Siren Night. Next thing I knew, I was singing "Siren night, holy night...." Fate sealed the title then and there. SunriseSonata stood. Aria crossed her arms. Adagio leaned her head back into her hands. It had been days since the sirens’ impromptu party. The whole school had assembled for some ridiculous sunrise watching. It seemed like an incredibly contrived school spirit event. Aria had been more than happy to express her distaste at being here. Thought the pink-haired girl was probably behind this. Didn’t help that Sonata had insisted, dragged them to the front of the damn thing. Still, they were here. Not that much of the student body paid them much mind. If they were, they were doing a good job of hiding it. Not even associating with the six had salvaged their reputation, and it was mostly Sonata doing the associating. They still got shifty looks in the hallways, nasty words behind their backs, unpleasant comments to their faces. Sonata started hopping, near jumping in excitement. At what, her companions couldn’t tell. They’d accepted Sonata was a little out of it long before that day, but she had only gotten more unpredictable, as if that had been possible. They could only shake their heads and smile as she started twirling. How could she not? She saw beauty everywhere, in the most unlikely of places, ever since her mind was uncluttered from plans of world domination and hypnotic singing. She knew only one way to express that beauty. So she did. And she sung. It started as a spark. A spark that blew into a flame. A flame that dispersed into cosmic dust. And somewhere in that cosmic dust, a star was born. Aria tensed. Adagio caught her breath. They felt every last person behind them bristle, back away in wariness. Their lost powers didn’t translate into lost memories of the afflicted. Their eyes shot back to Sonata. Assuredly the sunset wasn’t this important to her? Her mind’s eye stared at that lone star. Even she was a little confused. Why had she been drawn to that ball of fire? Her vision expanded; she now saw not one but countless stars. And suddenly, she understood. Aria now dared turn around, dared face the crowd. Before her stood a crowd, judging her, picking her apart. The light of dawn slowly cast her shadow over them. She could not, would never understand what Sonata had seen. But somewhere, Sonata had seen a song, and Aria would be damned if she would be left behind. She would not. And she sung. She had dreamed this dream before. Even in harsh reality, the shimmers of fantasy swam in her eyes. She had not failed in her dreams. It had crossed her mind once, to be put out, never to be seen about. She took Sonata’s tune, built upon it, decorated it. She grasped Sonata’s vision, and by sheer force of will and song made it reality before her. Adagio cursed her companions. What part of letting this blow over had they not understood? The incompetent – had they no foresight? Her eyes cast over the crowd. She saw intent in their eyes. She made out a distinct six rushing forward. Her mind cast back to her ceiling. Those two were going to be the death of them all. She had seen how the path they were on ended. She was just going to have to lead them down a different path. She knew only one way was going to work. She stepped up. And she sung. She felt the tugs of Sonata’s and Aria’s songs. They were hardly new sensations. But here she took them in. She guided them, pulled them together. She took Aria’s song and lifted it. She held Aria’s reality and molded it. She burned it, refined it. Aria took her reality back, rebuilt in, built it better. Adagio took Aria’s reality, and by mind and heart shared it with the world. They hadn’t tried. All they had done was step in with their own song. But they fell into place, each part a piece of a puzzle. Realization burst in Adagio. Sonata had not been singing about the sunset. Sonata was the spark. The reason they had to keep singing. Their connection to a vision only she could see. But vision is meaningless without action. Aria was the fire. The push they needed to keep fighting. A movement that could not be ignored. But movement is meaningless without purpose. Adagio was the wind. The guidance they needed to keep living. The touch that could blow them on or cool them down. But purpose cannot exist… without vision. Sonata gave them foundation. Aria gave them momentum. Adagio gave them direction. They were the Sirens. And they sung. Sonata turned around. It suddenly dawned on her that she had been singing in front of a crowd. She faltered. She stumbled backwards. Her voice stopped, her mouth hung open. Aria saw her, vocally caught her, pushed them both forward. And Sonata found her voice again. Aria kept singing, singing higher and higher. Suddenly, she found herself alone, out of harmony with her companions. She stood, frozen. Adagio heard her, lyrically nudged her, pulled her back. And Aria found her song again. Adagio led the song. Within an instant, her mind went blank. Her mind’s eye could only see darkness. She stepped forward. Her foot landed on air. She fell forward. Sonata felt her, shared her revelations with her, showed her solid ground. And Adagio found her life again. They closed their eyes, and fell into the song. Their voices rose as one. They raised their hands, lifted up something, some vague concept. Behind them, the sun rose. Their song ended. They looked out into the assembly before them. Silence. Uncertain eyes. Nervous cast-about glances. Adagio let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. At least they weren’t trying to – One clap. One set of hands clapping. Now two, no, three. Now it was seven. Eighteen. Twenty five. Whistles. Cheers. Applause. It took Sonata a while to realize they were applauding for them. She grabbed the two, pulled them in for a hug, went on about how they didn’t need any magic. Aria managed to be more dignified amidst Sonata’s for-realzies and waves to the crowd, but she loved it all the same. Adagio let out a chuckle. Someone called, chanted for an encore. Adagio’s eyes widened. She cast her eyes about for that voice. She saw. She nearly gasped. Now two calls. Three more. Another eight. A crowd. She looked back. She caught a wink. Adagio felt two pairs of eyes look at her. She smiled against the backdrop of the rising sun. Tomorrow morning, the sirens will wake up. They will go to school. Sonata will hum a little diddly. The three will break apart at the intersection. They will sit down in their respective classes. Aria will stand in front of the class, give a presentation on cell division. They will meet for lunch. They will find themselves sitting with a particular group of six. They will go home. Adagio will do her homework. Someday, Sonata will open a blank document. Aria will stand on a stage. Adagio will find herself looking at a poster for a Spring Fling. But for now, they sing about a sunrise. And they remember what it is to be a siren. Author's Note And there it lies. If you're curious, the person who calls for the encore was you all along! On a more serious note, I had several ideas who it could be, but decided to leave it as an exercise for the readers. In the end, I ended up writing a redemption story. I'm a little sad, but I'm pretty happy with where the story led me. I have vague plans for possibly writing a prose companion/sequel to this piece, but none coming down the pipe too soon. On a relatively unrelated note, I really should look into getting artwork for this.... Well, I hope you enjoyed this exercise in descriptive writing of mine. Perhaps I shall try another story in this style, perhaps not. But with some luck, I am not done with writing about this universe, not yet.
SunsetSonata ran. It had been a week since that fateful day. Since that end to the Battle of the Bands. She had just been kicked out of the house by Adagio and Aria. Something about being stupid and being the worst and ruining their plans. She didn’t bother to remember. She didn’t know where she was running to, nor did she care. And so she ran. Eventually, her body gave way, and she collapsed onto a bench, slouching. She tried to breath in between her sobs. The sun began to dip into the horizon; the sky began to darken. She hardly noticed. Why, she wondered. Why had they shattered her pendants, taken away her singing? Sure, she had planned to take over the world and enslave all of humanity with it, but it was her singing! She was a siren! She sang! She sat there, crying. Ever since that day, she couldn’t carry a tune. She was off-key, off-beat, and off on her own. But in that moment, she didn’t care. Suddenly, she composed herself, sniffling. She sat up. She sang. Because that was what sirens do. She sang the old songs. Even now, she remembered her first songs. The songs of manipulation and hatred. The songs that had almost taken over this world. She opened her mouth, and out came a broken voice. She saw ponies fighting amongst themselves, empowering her songs even more. She remembered the taste of hatred, the scent of paranoia, the sensation of dissent. Memories were all she had now. She saw herself, her only companions for a thousand years, strutting in a cafeteria. Her voice sounded akin to an un-tuned piano, a violin wound too tight. She saw a crowed enthralled, her true form revealed. Even the scraps of arguing would have sated her, if only for a while. But even such lowly things were beyond her reach. But she tried anyway. Out of foolishness or determination, she did not know, nor care. She started to shake, twitch, just a little. Her song would have driven away any living being that could hear, and even a few that couldn’t, with her singing. But there was no one to hear her. And she sang. Her tune changed. Her songs were no longer about others but herself. She sang a cry for her old life back, a cry for her ability to sing, to enthrall once more. The old songs still echoed in her mind, but they were fading. They had been fading for a week now. She didn’t want to believe it. She tried again, tried to sing the songs that had been her life since time immemorial. But her voice failed her, and she opened her mouth, and all she heard was silence. Desperate, she started to cry for anything, anything at all to make her day better. Tears ran through her makeup and stain her clothes, or perhaps it had started to rain, or maybe she had finally snapped and was drooling in her delirium. She could not tell, nor did she care to try. No longer could she sit straight. She heaved over, arched back. Her voice, her song became primal, instinctual… beautiful. Not the beautiful that earns standing ovations, or the beautiful that gets a crowd to sing along, or the beautiful that transforms into half-ponies. It was the beautiful that reminds a child of a mother’s heartbeat, that demands that you feel a chill run through you. But there was no one to hear her. And she sang. She kept singing. The sun had long since set, and the stars shone above. She had long since stopped singing anything that resembled words. Thoughts, concepts, vocalizations, but not words or phrases. In her voice, she reached out, tried to grab something, anything that she could dream for, but it always slipped between her fingers, always merely an illusion to tease her. A friend, a warm bed, a little duckling riding a taco. Wait, what? There it was – a little ducking, clad in sailor hat, sailing a fish taco in a sea of salsa. Even through a storm of shredded sharp cheddar and waves of ground beef, that taco boat sailed on. And it looked mighty tasty, too. The spontaneity, the comedy of it all took her. Her former friends… no, her former companions, would probably have scolded her for such a silly thought. But they weren’t here. They couldn’t see what she saw. Her song was still that primal cry, but now it was lighter, happier. A little bell rang, but could only be heard if you believed. And she dared believe. First it was a giggle in between the notes. Then out slipped a chuckle. Then, laughter; pure, childish laughter. Her singing and laugher became one. She was hopping up and down on that bench, and only heaven above knows why she was not leaping, dancing, twirling. She didn’t need words. Words would have limited her vision, her story of that little duckling, her story about herself. She had to tell that story, to anyone and everyone that would, no, could hear her. But there was no one to hear her. And she sang. In the morning, she would be found by a girl who had come to school early because her “Pinkie Intuition” told her to. She would be found, collapsed and snoring, on a bench on the way to school. She would be offered a change of change of clothes, an ear to hear her story. She would try to share it, and find her voice lost. She would try to pantomime it, and fail, fail quite miserably. But the details of her story would not be that important, not in the grand scheme of life. She would find a friend to laugh with. She would sit with that girl, later that day, at lunch. She would sit with that girl, and her friends, at lunch. But for now, she sang about a duckling sailor in a fish taco boat. And she remembered what it is to enjoy singing. Author's Note If there's one thing I learned from this exercise, it is that descriptive writing is hard. EDIT: And writing properly is harder.
DuskAria grumbled. It had been two weeks since Sonata started hanging out with them. She still lived with them, but it always seemed like she was sleeping over at one of their houses every other night. Even when she stayed the night, she always grabbed her dinner, and went to her room. Speak of the devil, Sonata popped in through the front door. Aria turned her head, and watched as whatever smile that had been on Sonata’s face disappeared. Again, Sonata grabbed a couple slices of pizza, and headed for her room. She looked across the table to Adagio, who gave a shrug and scowl as she took a bite of her own slice of pizza. Most of the dinner table discussion had been started by Sonata, usually by saying something stupid, and needing Aria or Adagio to correct her. This was doubly true since they took their voices away, and neither Aria nor Adagio were ever in the mood for small talk since that. Without Sonata, there was no need for words. And so the two sirens ate in silence before retiring for the night. Aria sat onto her bed, and looked out the window. The sun had since set beneath the horizon, but the faintest light of dusk still peeked. She couldn’t afford to be up this late. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she had work. Work. Work hadn’t been something they’d really had to do before that. Now, they had to scrape a living together. They managed… somehow. She laid down, but sleep refused to take her. She tossed and turned, but sleep eluded her. Grumbling, she sat up, and did the only thing she could think of. She sang. Because that is what sirens do. She tried to sing the old songs. Those songs that had been her lifeblood, her sustenance. But they sounded awful now, another bitter reminder of that. Images of a booing, jeering crowd flashed before her, echoed in her mind. Yet she still heard those beautiful voices, that siren song, but it mocked her, dared her to sing it once more. Each dissonance, difference in notes seemed to fill the room. Those smooth, sweet, sinister vocals rang from behind an un-tuned violin. She sang the songs that once sowed discord, but now a new song played over it in her mind. Their song. Now, she cannot hear the songs of the past, not even in her memories. She tried to hear them again, so that she may try to sing them again, but it was of no use. There was a new song there. A song of unity, duty, and destiny. One that spoke of joy in friendship. How she hated that song. It blasted over their legacy, their masterpiece. Her legacy, her masterpiece. Her song turned against her fellow sirens. Her voice turned shrill, stabbing, a violin whose bow ran across faster than the eye could see. Stupid Sonata, ruining their plans, and now she had the gall to hang out with them? Mooch off of them? That freeloading… not that Adagio was any better. Adagio just stayed at home and plotted. Adagio worked only on the weekends, while Aria worked every day of the week. Not like Adagio’s plans had worked out, as Aria’s terrible singing voice reminded her. Her song took on an audible grimace, a musical grunt of frustration. Impossibly, she sang harder, faster. She was the one who worked after school and on the weekends to make sure they could still live in this apartment. She stamped her foot. The violin fell to the floor; it cracked, splintered; its strings snapped. In fact, she had been the one to pay for the pizza tonight. She cooked or paid for dinner every night. And yet Adagio had the nerve to still order her around, tell her what to do, do for her own- No. She was not Adagio’s pawn anymore. She did not need her anymore. If Sonata, silly Sonata, the worst Sonata, could break free of Adagio’s shadow, then she could. Her tune changed. She sang of her own plans for greatness, her goals in life. Vaguely, she knew she would have to achieve them the hard way. Somewhere in her mind reminded her that she could enthrall no longer. She was not even totally sure what her goals were. World domination had always been Adagio’s dream for the sirens. Not hers, not her dream as a siren. But that was nothing right now. Right now, her voice soared, soared as high as her new ambitions. There was no band or orchestra behind her, no backup vocals or fellow singers. She did not need them, never again. She sang a melody, a proud melody. She sang that the same melody again and again, each time a little more decorated, flourished. She built on that melody, built a song around that melody. It sounded bold, proud… beautiful. Part of her dared not believe it, that she could sing again. In any other moment, she could not have sung, would not believe it. But here, now, she believed. And she sang. Vaguely, it registered in her mind that, across the hall, Sonata was singing too. In the morning, she would wake up, prepare herself, and go to work. She would stand at a register as she always did. She would see Sonata with them during her lunch break. She would refuse to sit with them. She would concede after Sonata’s persistent pestering and begging. She would hear the sky-high ambitions of the one with the rainbow hair. She would hear an earful of mistrust from the rainbow-haired one. She would return to work, and finish her shift. She would think about her. Not them, her. About how not so different they were. Perhaps they… were really just them. She would contemplate the usefulness of a rival, of rivals for her to measure her singing. But for now, she sang about her new identity, her newfound freedom. And she remembered what it is to sing your own song. Author's Note I don't quite know how this Aria came about. The idea of "independent Aria" was always there, but it somehow morphed into something sounding a bit more evil than I initially saw. I also don't know where the idea of "single working mom Aria" came from. It just ended up writing itself that way. My one regret is that I didn't give Sonata the chapter titled "Dusk."
MidnightAdagio flopped onto her bed. It hadn’t been a full day since Aria started talking with those damned Six. She and Sonata had gone out for the night. They hadn’t said where, but it was no secret. They were hanging out with those damned Rainbooms. Probably were sleeping over, given how late it was. She lazily rolled her head to the side. Just about midnight. She let out some strange cross between a grunt and a sigh. Not even a day. It hadn’t taken a full day for Aria to abandon her. By the songs, the three had been together long since before recorded history, countless millennia, and before a month was over, the two had left her. Left her over one failure. Left her for the very people that ruined them all. Had they been friends? Far from it. But surely, assuredly there had been something, some sense of kinship that had bound them together? Clearly not. She grimaced. Those two didn’t know how good they had it. Sonata was a ditz, a klutz; she couldn’t understand the magnitude of what happened if she tried. Aria was always second fiddle to her, needed her to actually come up with the schemes that had kept the three alive. They could blame her, point to her as the cause of their troubles. They could leave her, leave whatever parts of their identity they didn’t like with her. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t run from her failures, her mistakes. She could never un-see how close they had been. Her fists clenched, her nails dug into her palms. Her masterpiece had but one stain, one tarnish. That one smear had consumed it all. Her great failure hung in front of her, dangled, on a loop of rope, hanging from the ceiling. It dared her to chase it, to try to grab it. In her heart, she smells embers and sparks. She lay there. There was nothing to be done. So she sung. Because that will always be what sirens do. She sung the old songs. The songs of hate, of malice. The songs of a time long since forgotten. She sung them perfectly. An eternal flame crackles. She had sung these songs before she was born into the world. They could not be taken from her. She would not, could not let go of them. The song rang perfectly in her mind. The same song rang hollow in her ears. The same song wreaked havoc on her throat. She tried to lie to herself, as she had lied to many others with her voice. But her voice betrayed her. And through it all, she sung. Her thoughts turned to the Rainbooms. That damned band had taken everything from her. She hated them. Hate was too good for them; it implied that her dislike was merely emotional. No, her distaste ran deeper than her own soul, the soul they had torn from her and dared to shatter before her own eyes. She knew this song by now. She had sung it countless times since that day. That flame was now a fire, burning deep inside her, begging for fuel. And through it all, she sung. Why had she come? If that princess hadn’t come, they would have been powerless to stop them, stop her. She hated her. Why had she even made the band in the first place? She shot up, slammed her fists into the bed. She quivered, eyes slammed shut, a cry, a roar of rage now weaved into her song. Stupid rainbow girl’s ego should have destroyed that band anyway. She hated her. And why had she even been let into the band? Not six months ago she had torn the school asunder, emotionally and physically, she hated her. Somehow she could still sing, sing faster, harder. That fire was now a blaze that consumed the room, consumed her as she yet stoked it more, threw more wood on that fire. And she thought she was all that, thought she could make it without her and she had stage fright, should never have been able to stand, and she had been wearing headphones, who wears headphones all the time and and she hated her had no fashion sense and he was just a dumb dog and and and she had almost given everything away she hated her and and and – … Silence. She fell to her bed, slammed into it. She smothered her own flame as she fell. Her breathing could not slow. But she was tired, so tired. She couldn’t be angry, not anymore. Her song faded in between the gasps and exhales. Her eyelids drooped, but did not close. With each breath went out more of her energy, her rage. Could she not have rest? Could she not see the end of her suffering? She had lost her voice, her strength… her… her… friends. Everything. Gone. Because of them. She opened her eyes. She saw her way out. It hung from the ceiling. She swatted at it lazily, watched it swing back and forth. Swing like a pendulum. Like a metronome, the faintest woosh keeping time. It beckoned to her, to give her sleep, the sleep she so desperately craved now. She saw the knives in the kitchen, saw the painkillers in the cabinet, faint images floating above her bed. There were not even embers now. She tried to sing, for what, she did not even know, but nothing would come. In the morning, she would go to school. She would walk the halls of that cursed school. She would feel the angry stares of the classmates she once had wrapped around her finger. She would grab her food. She would see, at the far table, Sonata and Aria with them. She would sigh, and take her place at the edge of the table, next to Sonata. They would barely glance at her. Sonata and Aria would spare a few words in her direction. She would come home alone. She would go into her room. There would be nothing hanging from the ceiling. But for now, she closes her eyes and lets out one last sigh. And she will sing no more. Author's Note It's funny. This piece was supposed to be less angry, more bitter, and less resigned than it came out. Looking at it now, though, I think I like how this angle on Adagio feels. My apologies for that dreadful chunk of grammar and formatting. It was a choice between style and grammar, and alas, poor Yorick, style won this time.
DawnSonata guffaws. Aria presses her hand into her forehead. Adagio rolls her eyes with a smirk. It has been weeks since the sirens had all sat around a dinner table together, just the three. Before them is a chicken, now all torn apart, the remains upon three plates, some more full of bones than others. A mess of cinnamon sugar and crumbs graces Sonata’s plate. It also graces a good bit of the rest of the table. Sonata never was good at holding back her laughter. The sight is enough to compel Sonata into an impromptu squeeze of Aria, who rewards her with a huff and some mix of a push and hug in return. Something about spending too much time with a pink-haired nutcase. Something about how they’re changing her, and not for the better. Sonata stops laughing, starts bristling. Now Adagio has started as well. Something about the three having to stick together, being the only true kinship they have. Something about how only they care about her, truly care. Sonata, for perhaps once in her life, is furious. They dare make fun of the people who took her in, gave her something new? The girl who found her by more than chance, who understands her like no other? Part of her still dimly fears retribution, still feels too naïve to talk back. But that pales now to her newfound confidence in something she may not fully grasp, but can still feel. The chair slides out from under her. Now she is on her feet, salsa bubbling around her. Aria’s eyes widen slightly. The balloons have been popped, and replaced with blades of steel and bows of horse hair. No longer is this the old silly Sonata. No longer is the pecking order intact. Someone dares challenge her claim, her right to authority. And Aria never backs away from a challenge. Her eyes narrow. The shouting continues, until Sonata drops the hammer. And sings. She reaches in, tries to find that primal spark, that cry that started her journey. She finds it, grasps it, and dares not let go. Her voice is sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and soda pop. She gazes up, not at the ceiling, but beyond. She sees wonders beyond comprehension, glories beyond words, joys beyond emotion. Is it a vision or a sugar rush? She can’t tell. It makes no difference to her. She has no words, there are no words. But there is music, a song, and she sings. She reaches out, tries her best to describe the indescribable. For all the things she can see, she can’t see her mouth curve up as she sings. But as she sings, she does see someone. It’s almost like looking into a mirror. She has something in her now; what it is, she does not know, nor care. She has no need for words, not here, not now. It’s not about proving a point, about proving them wrong, not anymore. This is about reminding herself about her new song, that she still can sing, that she now has a reason to sing, a smile. How dare she, wave her singing in front of her. How dare she presume that she, Aria, she still lies as broken as she was on that fateful day. Aria stands herself, and sings her own song. She hushes the musicians with her voice. It rises above the drabble, the plebian. It is a relentless declaration of something, each repetition sprouting a new branch, a new flourish. She stands before not Sonata, but an audience, a crowd. They will judge her, pick at her, search for any weakness. They will find none. They will cite her history, her past, her failures. She will wash those away, wipe her slate clean. She will make sure of it. The past has been written, the book has been shelved. It is time to start anew. This isn’t about Sonata, about that impudent upstart anymore. Sonata is the target of her song, of her glorious vocalizations, but not the goal. Aria’s dreams are still but clouds and colors, but even the greatest of stars are born from the stellar dust. Even the smallest specks of dust still glimmer in the light. And Aria will have the spotlight on her. Adagio is frozen. She can’t break up this fight, not with a glare or wave. Whatever authority she once had is gone. Her voice may be broken, but her ears are not, and she can hear the beauty of the songs of her fellow sirens. But they overlap in all the wrong places, construct dissonances where there should be harmonies. The medium may have changed, the tempo and tonality, but before her is still a shouting match, a crude vocal brawl. She cannot sing. But she must still cling to the order of old, must try to remind them who is in charge here. She has only ever done it one way. She stands, joins in the vocal bludgeoning. Her voice is still off-key, embarrassingly so in the face of her fellow sirens. Mercifully, neither seem to have noticed her yet. She keeps singing, struggling. She will not see those two fight any longer. She will remind them about everything they’ve been through, everything she has led them through. She reaches out to them. This isn’t just about the old order. This is about keeping the only two companions, maybe friends, she has ever had. Somewhere, the fire in her wakes up. Her song turns authoritative, commanding… beautiful. Suddenly, Aria and Sonata are silent. They turn and listen to her beckon them to her once more. No! She will never be under her rule ever again. Aria shouts, sings back, refusing Adagio’s cry. Adagio replies in kind with a scathing chord. Back and forth, the tones fly. Sonata will not be forgotten as the grown-ups talk. She will be respected as an equal. She screams, sings into the arguing pair. The two turn on her for perhaps a second, before verbally shoving each other. Dissonance reverberates around the table. The Sirens are no more. Now three sirens stand around a table, trying to climb a ladder that isn’t there, ascend a staircase that is only an illusion. Each tone is another upward grasp, another reaching step. So focused on what lies above that they cannot see they are trampling one another. Adagio takes a step too far and stumbles, falls flat. Aria plants her foot on top of Adagio’s posterior, only to be yanked down by the hair as Sonata climbs another imaginary rung. But her feet find no footing, and she falls as Adagio rises. Similar thoughts echo through all their minds. Fear of being left behind. A broken amulet, a long shadow. Sessions hidden away in a bathroom or bedroom, trying to reclaim what was lost. They have tasted song again, and they will not let it be taken away again. Their thoughts, their songs, now turn squarely about each other, at each other. Visions are forgotten, dreams fade from sight, unity is left by the wayside. But the singing continues. They cannot hear the singing deteriorate, not against the already mismatched notes. They still jostle against one another, pushing and shoving and grabbing and – Adagio is the first to notice. Her voice no longer rings, no longer shines. Soon enough, she sees in the others’ eyes that they’ve noticed. The singing, shouting match winds down, but no breath slows. With a cross of a huff and a humph, Sonata storms out. Slowly, Aria and Adagio take their seats once more, resume eating their food. Silence haunts the dinner table. Aria looks down at her food. The cinnamon sugar sprinkled around the table. The unattended plate. Adagio. The empty seat. The open door. Adagio’s eyes. They come to a mostly silent agreement. They rise and walk out the door. They find her on a park bench on the way to school, sitting. Not quite crying, not quite composed. They find her silent. She turns to face their footsteps, their faces. Silently, she stands, and walks home alongside them. The sky has the faintest glow of dawn. In the afternoon, they will wake up. They will not bother dressing themselves. It will be Saturday. They will have the day off. They will mull about the house in silence. Sonata will plop in front of the couch. Aria will sit down on the couch. Adagio will lie across the couch. The television will be off. They will gaze into the blank screen, deep in thought. Sonata will suddenly suggest a party. Aria will mention how she’s spending too much time with that pink-haired girl. Adagio will fail to realize she is holding her breath. They will order pizza and cheap Chinese takeout. They will sit around a dinner table. But for now, they walk. And they remember they are not alone. Author's Note A bit longer. Had to get some actual narration in there. Also had to write about three sirens instead of one. This is not the end quite yet. If sunset is part of the night, then so is sunrise, dang it. The original title of this story was Songs of the Sirens. Once I came up with the whole "night" thematics, it became Nights of the Sirens. It then morphed into Siren Night. Next thing I knew, I was singing "Siren night, holy night...." Fate sealed the title then and there.
SunriseSonata stood. Aria crossed her arms. Adagio leaned her head back into her hands. It had been days since the sirens’ impromptu party. The whole school had assembled for some ridiculous sunrise watching. It seemed like an incredibly contrived school spirit event. Aria had been more than happy to express her distaste at being here. Thought the pink-haired girl was probably behind this. Didn’t help that Sonata had insisted, dragged them to the front of the damn thing. Still, they were here. Not that much of the student body paid them much mind. If they were, they were doing a good job of hiding it. Not even associating with the six had salvaged their reputation, and it was mostly Sonata doing the associating. They still got shifty looks in the hallways, nasty words behind their backs, unpleasant comments to their faces. Sonata started hopping, near jumping in excitement. At what, her companions couldn’t tell. They’d accepted Sonata was a little out of it long before that day, but she had only gotten more unpredictable, as if that had been possible. They could only shake their heads and smile as she started twirling. How could she not? She saw beauty everywhere, in the most unlikely of places, ever since her mind was uncluttered from plans of world domination and hypnotic singing. She knew only one way to express that beauty. So she did. And she sung. It started as a spark. A spark that blew into a flame. A flame that dispersed into cosmic dust. And somewhere in that cosmic dust, a star was born. Aria tensed. Adagio caught her breath. They felt every last person behind them bristle, back away in wariness. Their lost powers didn’t translate into lost memories of the afflicted. Their eyes shot back to Sonata. Assuredly the sunset wasn’t this important to her? Her mind’s eye stared at that lone star. Even she was a little confused. Why had she been drawn to that ball of fire? Her vision expanded; she now saw not one but countless stars. And suddenly, she understood. Aria now dared turn around, dared face the crowd. Before her stood a crowd, judging her, picking her apart. The light of dawn slowly cast her shadow over them. She could not, would never understand what Sonata had seen. But somewhere, Sonata had seen a song, and Aria would be damned if she would be left behind. She would not. And she sung. She had dreamed this dream before. Even in harsh reality, the shimmers of fantasy swam in her eyes. She had not failed in her dreams. It had crossed her mind once, to be put out, never to be seen about. She took Sonata’s tune, built upon it, decorated it. She grasped Sonata’s vision, and by sheer force of will and song made it reality before her. Adagio cursed her companions. What part of letting this blow over had they not understood? The incompetent – had they no foresight? Her eyes cast over the crowd. She saw intent in their eyes. She made out a distinct six rushing forward. Her mind cast back to her ceiling. Those two were going to be the death of them all. She had seen how the path they were on ended. She was just going to have to lead them down a different path. She knew only one way was going to work. She stepped up. And she sung. She felt the tugs of Sonata’s and Aria’s songs. They were hardly new sensations. But here she took them in. She guided them, pulled them together. She took Aria’s song and lifted it. She held Aria’s reality and molded it. She burned it, refined it. Aria took her reality back, rebuilt in, built it better. Adagio took Aria’s reality, and by mind and heart shared it with the world. They hadn’t tried. All they had done was step in with their own song. But they fell into place, each part a piece of a puzzle. Realization burst in Adagio. Sonata had not been singing about the sunset. Sonata was the spark. The reason they had to keep singing. Their connection to a vision only she could see. But vision is meaningless without action. Aria was the fire. The push they needed to keep fighting. A movement that could not be ignored. But movement is meaningless without purpose. Adagio was the wind. The guidance they needed to keep living. The touch that could blow them on or cool them down. But purpose cannot exist… without vision. Sonata gave them foundation. Aria gave them momentum. Adagio gave them direction. They were the Sirens. And they sung. Sonata turned around. It suddenly dawned on her that she had been singing in front of a crowd. She faltered. She stumbled backwards. Her voice stopped, her mouth hung open. Aria saw her, vocally caught her, pushed them both forward. And Sonata found her voice again. Aria kept singing, singing higher and higher. Suddenly, she found herself alone, out of harmony with her companions. She stood, frozen. Adagio heard her, lyrically nudged her, pulled her back. And Aria found her song again. Adagio led the song. Within an instant, her mind went blank. Her mind’s eye could only see darkness. She stepped forward. Her foot landed on air. She fell forward. Sonata felt her, shared her revelations with her, showed her solid ground. And Adagio found her life again. They closed their eyes, and fell into the song. Their voices rose as one. They raised their hands, lifted up something, some vague concept. Behind them, the sun rose. Their song ended. They looked out into the assembly before them. Silence. Uncertain eyes. Nervous cast-about glances. Adagio let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. At least they weren’t trying to – One clap. One set of hands clapping. Now two, no, three. Now it was seven. Eighteen. Twenty five. Whistles. Cheers. Applause. It took Sonata a while to realize they were applauding for them. She grabbed the two, pulled them in for a hug, went on about how they didn’t need any magic. Aria managed to be more dignified amidst Sonata’s for-realzies and waves to the crowd, but she loved it all the same. Adagio let out a chuckle. Someone called, chanted for an encore. Adagio’s eyes widened. She cast her eyes about for that voice. She saw. She nearly gasped. Now two calls. Three more. Another eight. A crowd. She looked back. She caught a wink. Adagio felt two pairs of eyes look at her. She smiled against the backdrop of the rising sun. Tomorrow morning, the sirens will wake up. They will go to school. Sonata will hum a little diddly. The three will break apart at the intersection. They will sit down in their respective classes. Aria will stand in front of the class, give a presentation on cell division. They will meet for lunch. They will find themselves sitting with a particular group of six. They will go home. Adagio will do her homework. Someday, Sonata will open a blank document. Aria will stand on a stage. Adagio will find herself looking at a poster for a Spring Fling. But for now, they sing about a sunrise. And they remember what it is to be a siren. Author's Note And there it lies. If you're curious, the person who calls for the encore was you all along! On a more serious note, I had several ideas who it could be, but decided to leave it as an exercise for the readers. In the end, I ended up writing a redemption story. I'm a little sad, but I'm pretty happy with where the story led me. I have vague plans for possibly writing a prose companion/sequel to this piece, but none coming down the pipe too soon. On a relatively unrelated note, I really should look into getting artwork for this.... Well, I hope you enjoyed this exercise in descriptive writing of mine. Perhaps I shall try another story in this style, perhaps not. But with some luck, I am not done with writing about this universe, not yet.
