“out of the seaweed rising”
Description from Kitty Chicky Cat: In the dark, murky waters where the land meets the sea, and in places the water doesn’t even come to the knee, there is a dark and nameless fear about whom you will next to never hear, for none live to tell the tale about the monster with a pretty face and fishes scales.
Out of the seaweed rising, rising, rising.
The spirit of these muddy waters, deprived by human cruelty of all her beloved daughters, for this reason has a blood-lust, as evidenced by her eyes dried to rust.
Old bones come up from the black mold muck, leaving the gaping sculls that once held their masters souls, now long departed, and align to form their new mistress, so empty hearted. At her call they come from where their former owners laid, the vertebrae from broken spines, to form the ever growing tail that one fitful day'd choked them in it's embrace and brought them to this not so final resting place.
the black mud of her marshland home forms her flesh, covering borrowed bone. Seaweed comes to form her hair, a floating, tangled, grasping mass, writhing there like medusa’s snakes, free to hunt again and take hold like wet fingers anything that lingers.
Shining hair, sculpted feature, shape of beauty , long tail curving gracefully, quivers hungrily for that which she knows but cannot yet see, this creature is not alone.
In a ship without a sail, travelers tall and pale continue on without a care, totally unaware of the one lying in wait there quietly among the weed of the sea. Because of their foolish actions they have stirred this water’s spirit from her rest and evoked her swift reaction. They have now become the groom of their own impending doom.
She can feel them drawing nearer, the aroma of their warm blood becoming clearer, memories of lost becoming even dearer, cutting even deeper, no thing can now keep her. Out of the seaweed rising, rising, rising.
The surface ripples oddly then it breaks, from the murky water appears a dark face, a beauty strangely out of place. The traveling men are mesmerized, until they see her blood red eyes. Old tales unheeded come to mind, o how sight is clearer when in hind. They remember lore of her kin, she the love of her daughters, they gaze their last upon her glistening earthen skin …and then the slaughter begins.
They paid for the sin of their fathers before them and never were seen again.
….until once more their bones gathered, the black mud writhed, seaweed swarmed, and she opened her blood red eyes. Rising, rising, rising out of the seaweed, the vengeful spirit of those shadowed waters ever grieving her lost daughters.
- “Mint Julep”: on
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