(May 1st-8th, 2022)

Write about a time you showed up as your true self.

THE SIREN’S STORY

SIREN and WEARY TRAVELER are sitting on a wooden table by the harbor. WEARY
TRAVELER has been searching for the man who killed her father, who died at sea 10
years prior at the hands of a still-unidentified pirate crew. While traveling with
sirens, WEARY TRAVELER gained new sympathy for them, in particular SIREN, who
she suspects attempted to save her father’s crew since she found SIREN’S medallion
with one of the crew. Using that medallion, WEARY TRAVELER coerces SIREN to
come up to the surface to talk. They somehow reach the topic of the “true self.”

SIREN: [Smiling, though it doesn’t reach her eyes]

Ah, tedious traveler. It is certainly a curious question! What is it that you see? A shape-shifting
monster—she-demon of warping skin and sharpened claws! Surely that isn’t the first question that
comes to mind?

[Smile turns feral. Stands up slowly, saunters around the wooden table and sits down
beside WEARY TRAVELER. Lazily, her eyes run over WEARY TRAVELER like a
predator sizing up its prey.]

Most would venture ask where their friends are. Their brothers, their fathers, their [quick glance at
WEARY TRAVELER] …lovers? Some—stupidly daring, I’m sure—even pose the question of why
we take them. What we do, what we gain, what they…lose. Do you know what we do with the
corpses of the men we devour? Most can’t stomach the answer. Our victims don’t die a quiet death.

[Laughs maliciously, leaning back.]

[Flippantly] I’m sure you’ve heard the stories. Rumors spread like sea foam on the surface among
your kind. Run among currents, ride the waves of people and wash upon strange shores. “Beware the
siren, her bewitching complexion and beautiful voice, perfectly crafted to lure men to their deaths.”

[Turns back to look at WEARY TRAVELER. Tone is arrogant, mocking, but there is
an edge of steel underneath her words.]

We call on men, their darkest thoughts and deepest desires. We revel in their misery, their fear as
they hear us hit the first note, their lust as, unwittingly, they jump overboard to their watery death.
And there is nothing more pleasurable than the sound [SIREN leans closer to WEARY TRAVELER.
Whispers] of human bones crunching between our teeth.

[Leans back again, smiling.]

 But I suppose you know all that. Hardly worth a question then, isn’t it? “What is your true self?” We
are what you want us to be. Pointedly perfect, with voices that ring in the heavens. We are objects for
men to admire, to relish, to imagine and use in their minds to reach a feeling beyond euphoria, before
they fall prey to our claws and teeth. We are made to be used, just as we’ve learned to let ourselves
be used so we can use others. There is no “true self” beneath that. We are just creatures of desire,
twisting our features to serve your needs.

WEARY TRAVELER: [Wordlessly puts the medallion on the table. The gold glints prettily at the light
of the setting sun. On seeing it, SIREN’S breath catches.]

SIREN: [Appearing nonchalant]

Ah! Right. My medallion! I thank you so much for taking care of it until now. If that is all…

[Tries to take it but WEARY TRAVELER covers it with her hand. SIREN glances up at
WEARY TRAVELER. WEARY TRAVELER’s face remains neutral. SIREN takes back
her teasing, mocking tone.]

You must’ve found this in some other human wreckage. Gosh! There are so many of them, I can’t
keep them straight in my head. Was there someone important to you there? [Mocking.] A precious
little man you were antsy to see again?

WEARY TRAVELER:
[Expressionless] My father.

SIREN: [Flicker of sadness passes over her face, quickly replaced by arrogant glee.]
And you want to know how he died? I’m sorry, I simply can’t keep track of every little human that
has fallen in our hands. Maybe he begged, maybe he flailed, maybe he sank like a stone.

[Bored tone] All I can assure you of is that before the pain, he felt the closest thing to happiness your
kind is capable of feeling. My sisters and I are very good at our jobs. We’ll become what people
want the most, trick the thoughts out of their heads and—

WEARY TRAVELER:
He was killed by pirates.

SIREN: [Voice softens, though her expression remains guarded.]

Oh. [Pause.] What is it you want from me then?

WEARY TRAVELER: [Looks down at her hands, spinning the medallion between her fingers.]
Ten years ago, my father and his crew took to ship to transport the cargo of a very wealthy merchant.
Silky linens, exotic plants, spices from all around the world. A ship so rich in cargo was just begging
to be ransacked. People warned the merchant, urging him to split it up among his numerous vessels,
but he was a greedy and impatient man, and refused.
 Not two months from their departure, they were attacked. Pirates boarded their ship some hours after
a storm, surprising the crew. The men fought bravely, but exhausted after three days of fighting the
sea, they fell easily to pirates’ wrath. They never stood a chance.
[Sets down medallion gently on the table.] My father was slain then. He died quickly.

Some of the crew weren’t so lucky. The pirates, impatient and thirsty for pain, tied the remaining
crew to the ravaged ship to slowly die at the bottom of the ocean.

SIREN: [Pause]
I see.

WEARY TRAVELER:
[With sudden fervor, looks up to meet SIREN’s eyes.] But unbeknownst to them, most of the crew
survived. They claim that as the ship was sinking, sirens rose from below the depths and swam
towards them. They were frightened to death at first, but the creatures gnawed through their bonds
and dragged them to shore.

[Looks out casually. Leans back]

Of course, people say they were simply driven mad by your song. That this last fantastical tale was
the illusion weaved into your voices, laced with poisoned honey to pull them down into the depths.
That it must’ve been through pure force of will that they eluded the siren’s trickery and treacherous
nature, only to have their minds end in shambles.

SIREN: [Carefully assesses WEARY TRAVELER]

And what do you believe?

WEARY TRAVELER: [Turns to meet SIREN’s eyes again. Takes a deep breath, puts the medallion in
her pocket, then gets up and looks out at the setting sun over the water.]
In my life, I have learned very well that men fear that which they cannot control. They fear the
weather, the wrath of the sea, the wavering patterns of rain.

[Continues to look out, giving her back to SIREN]

They fear a woman that does not need them.

SIREN: [Slowly gets up as well.]

Perhaps it is so.

WEARY TRAVELER:
Men who tell our tales will naturally spin them into broken pieces of the truth. They’ll bend our
narratives, twisting our voices until they become synonymous with theirs. If they fail to tame us, it
surely must not be a fault of theirs, but of our own, for failing to conform to the roles they set for us.
For who are we, if not our roles in relation to men?
 [Turns to look at SIREN. Takes her hands]

What I believe is that we have all been defined by stories and legends of old we never had a say in. I
believe sirens could very well be uninterested in a man’s flesh, and a woman like me—…a woman
like me…

[Falters. Pulls out the medallion and examines it.]

Did I ever tell you how I got my hands on this? One of the saved crew members had it on him. He
said that among the sirens was one who bore a golden medallion. While she pulled at a frightened,
struggling man, it fell off her. The crew member caught it before passing out, determined to give it to
her as a sign of gratitude. But he never saw her again. [Softly] He gave it to me, knowing I would
look for you in my quest to find my father’s murderer.

[Gently sets the medallion on SIREN’s palm, before closing SIREN’s fingers over it.]

That is why I ask. I don’t want to hear it from legend, or from strangers in an alehouse, but from you.
Beneath the stories and the claws, the songs and the tall tales, who are you?

SIREN: [Slowly backing away, clutching the medallion to her heart.]

What does it matter what I am? Creatures like me… we are what you perceive us to be. Nothing less,
nothing more. Stories are what shape us. We become what people want us to be, no matter what we
do. Smiles are misconstrued, words misunderstood. We have a role to play, and we do. There is
nothing, nothing beyond those stories.

WEARY TRAVELER: [Remaining still, by the table.]

Isn’t there?

SIREN:
I...I... [Falters and stops, looking up at WEARY TRAVELER.] No!

Creatures like me are hunted. We're scorned. Shamed and tortured and cut up and displayed. If we
were not as the stories say, then we would have gone through it all for nothing. What justice would
there be to hunt down the innocent?

[Shaking] There cannot, there is not any more to me—to any of us—than what they say. We… we
mold ourselves to men. We lure them in with our voices! We… we… we trick and lie, and pull them
down, to drown and adorn the depths!

WEARY TRAVELER: [Stares at SIREN silently. Swallows.]

Then…then…[Looks around, searching for words.]
 Maybe there isn’t an answer. You are who they say. But add your story to theirs. When they aren’t
watching…when no one is watching…start your own story. [Takes a step toward SIREN.] When
you’re safe, away from scornful eyes, break away. Make your story.

[Frusturated, looks out.] History will remember the version they prefer, and people will tell their
lies. I don’t know if we’ll ever win, but all we can do is make sure there is another story against
theirs. One that challenges. That questions. That defies and defends. That paints a siren, … [looks at
SIREN] as something more beyond tales of drowned men.

And.. and… [chokes on her voice]

SIREN:
And [walks toward WEARY TRAVELER] paints a woman like you [Takes WEARY TRAVELER’s
hands] as someone worthy of being loved.

[BOTH lean into each other, the light of the setting sun bathing them in a shower of
pink and orange, the white foam of the sea splashing at their feet.]

[Lights off. Curtains close.]