Nostalgia 101

Am I the only one who has a “memories” box stored somewhere in my room?

Oh, you do too?

Great. (It’s basically just full of junk and anything that brings a memory with it from my childhood stuff I’ve collected throughout the years)

Well I was looking through it the other day and stumbled upon one of my first story snippets I ever wrote as a teenager. Seriously. I think I wrote it in middle school, maybe eighth grade.

Rereading it I was laughing so hard because my mind at that age was a violent, vicious mess – ’cause the topic I chose to write about isn’t what a normal 13 year old girl thinks about.

And below is proof.

Under it I’ll be rewriting and editing the whole thing into something that looks more like a piece I would write nowadays – poetic? – and less like a kid wrote it (which is literally what it is)  😛  So be patient with the first half. Pleaseeee


Sirens – sea nymphs whose beautiful and mysterious music lures sailors to steer their ships toward dangerous rocks.

The salty water lapped against our scaly tails and sprayed our faces each time it roared against the massive rocks under us. It was so dark in our misplaced cave all you could see were our glowing green eyes fighting not to be noticed against the cavernous walls. Our pitch black hair hung all around us as we waited, anxious and hungry for our next meal.

I suddenly snapped my head to the side while our gruesome pointy ears poked up. The first melodic notes started as our sharp teeth glistened against the waves. A  ship was barging through with enough men to feed all of us and more. We could tell from the faces of the men that they were enchanted with our music.

The notes got stronger and the beast got closer.

The sailors were frightened all at once but it was already too late. We stopped our music and stormed towards the wreck to get our long awaited catch.


It took all of my willpower to type this down because not only is it cringe-worthy, it’s way too short.

Now, on to the challenge


In spite of the heartache, you learn to make these bones your home.

Let the biting wind caress each inch of you, for you are made of teeth sharper than wit, mind, song, dizzying melodies of remembrance.

And when you smile, they remind you of what you are.

How chaos and disaster made you learn to swim, not drown. How wrecked ships and screaming men make you so hungry. Hungry enough to swallow back the fight whole, wearing crowns made of thick memories stripped clean.

I will tell you how this story goes because I am a child of the wild, ancient vastness.

She sings to us the song of your people and we breathe it in like smoke to devour what comes from the ruins.

We are not an I anymore, we are one. The unity of pestilence and harsh, harsh beauty.

You dream of a time gone from your memory, when the tender grip of emotion had a latch as vicious as the golden hands that ripped his heart out, piece by piece.

It always comes when you least expect it.

Yes, the stars and the cold are weightless. Yes, the sun gets heavy in your blood but they fight for it.

Those who have already endured a life of blood-stained skin do not succumb to our crystallized sugar. They fight for life and it shreds all that we are.

Their very existence brings the fall of mankind. We have none, so the men who yell I am not afraid are those who carry all of humanity.

You learn to be the place they go to remember and the place they never forget.

Not the taste of death on each grain of salt in the air, not the roaring of blood in their veins as it calls down to the waves take me, take me with you, and certainly not in the liquid stars on our scales.

You watch them with eyes of coal and cascading hair of the deep, a faint glow that tells of the stories their grandfathers used to tell.

But they never listen.

Our lungs are the pith of all the earth’s history. They have witnessed and conquered. They were there when the expanse was endless, a ruin as unforgiving as the battling, hungry beasts within.

And when we finally speak, mouths wide, teeth glistening, they cannot run. They have no where to pass on their delicious fear as the damage takes hold.

Look at me, you sing.

Come to me, you plead.

And they do.


So there you have it.

My finalized version of the life of a siren 😂

Hope it wasn’t too depressing for you!!

Have you taken an old piece of writing and done it in your new, improved style? Have you compared your style of today with that of the past? How was the experience in seeing your improvement? I wanna know!

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