The Siren

Part II of Short Story: A Deception

📷Credit: Thank you, KELLEPICS 

The Siren

Janus silently cursed Hades for dodging his calls and returning messages with messages. Sure, the Lord of the Underworld was busy. The entire Upperworld was screaming toward hell in a flaming handbasket, but there had to be time to return a call, even briefly.

His Siren’s call shook him from his wallowing as Naribelle sang and sang, calling loudly for her evening meal. The softness of her voice echoed through the cavern of bleakness. The music always helped. Janus closed his eyes and exhaled. Opening himself, he braced for the crashing wave of emotion of deaths and lives lived.

The moment her melodies died, the bottoms of the boats opened, sending all the seafarers plunging into the dark waters. Janus experienced it as if he were there. His beautiful Naribelle morphed into a hideous monster with claw-like tentacles, one for each Underworlder. Her mouth opened into a large swirling hole, and she pulled every dying person into her clutches and gobbled them up in one swift movement. Their screams drowned within her. And silence filled the air.

Janus opened his eyes and exhaled, watching as his monster returned to her regular mermaid-like form. The souls floated around her as little lighted orbs passed through her on their way to the Underworld. The white ones, headed to that grand skyscraper at the top, were destined for eternal peace. The red ones were sent straight to the flaming pits of the deep. There was much to be done with them. And a few lone gray ones headed to a waiting room, where they would remain until the administration had time to deal with them.

With his atrocious work over for the day, the Two-Faced God retreated into the barren lighthouse. A subtle wave of his arms turned the drab space into a cozy-ish living room, complete with a roaring fire. At the end of the day, Naribelle craved the relaxation and warmth of domestic life.

 For a moment, he stood and let the heat of the fire wash over him, imagining it was the sun and it was everywhere. Lost in the warmth, he had to admit this place was quiet and peaceful, and his love did thrive with this never-ending supply of flesh, all for her taking. An assignment to devour humans meant no sneaking around and no accidental deaths.

Janus thought about their escapades over the centuries, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. A hungry unhappy siren could destroy an innocent town in a matter of days. Once, an out-of-sorts hangry Naribelle gobbled up a pair of deep-sea divers. Eating tourists always drew attention and led to life on the run from both mortals and gods. For the moment, their debts were paid, and this extended favor to Hades should warrant a bit of reward. Where would they go next?

“Jan! Janny! Where are you, darling?” Naribelle’s voice had a high mortal shrill to it. Nails on a chalkboard to most, but to Janus, it had a sweet singsong twang.

 “At the top of the lighthouse, Nari.”

Prattling on, she made her way up the spiral staircase, “What a fantastic feast today! Did you hear the screams? Most were fear of this place, not of me, which is always a refreshing change, especially when I’m doing the good work of the Lord of the Underworld.”

Janus rolled his eyes. The mere mention of Hades’ name put him in a mood again, but he plastered on a smile for his love.

She entered the room and whistled, “Aawww, Janny, it looks great in here. I love the way you’ve rearranged. It’s all wooded cabin and rustic. It’s perfect, and that sofa looks cozy enough for two,” She kissed him on the lips before she fell onto the couch and patted the space next to her.

“I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is about this place you find so alluring. It’s dreadful… and drafty …and ghastly…,” He shook his head and walked to the wet bar instead. He poured her a glass of wine and crossed the room.

She accepted the glass, took a sip of the wine, and licked her lips, “Darling, it’s lovely in here right now. Why can’t you embrace this? We’re so far from people, and the menu is sublime.”

“I know, but this was supposed to be a temporary gig, and you know I much prefer the southern hemisphere. I’m not going to lie; I am about at my wit's end, darling. Hades said six weeks.”

“I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon, Jan,” Naribelle took another sip of her wine. Letting the shoulder of her wrap slide off, she patted the space next to her again, “Janny, darling, don’t you want to enjoy the giddiness of my spoils?”

“I’m not in the mood, Nari,” He walked to the window. Looking outside at the vast nothingness, his hatred for this situation grew inside him. Add in the feeling of being taken advantage of by an old friend and his deep-rooted inner craving for sunshine and margaritas, and his face slipped. He turned, and a storm erupted, “Who in all the hells does Hades think he is? Leaving us here in this land of death and nowhere to take care of his work? Returning messages with messages. Maybe I should summon him right now and give him a piece of my…”

To Be Continued

Janus

Part I of Short Story: A Deception

It started as a 24-hour contest, became a Scribophile ‘desolate place’ contest, and then morphed into an entry for the L. Ron Hubbard Future Writers of America contest (where it won an Honorable Mention).

I do hope you enjoy Janus, the first of four installments in this short story about a god (or two), a siren, and an entrance to the Underworld.

📷Credit: Thank you, KELLEPICS 

A Tongue-in-Cheek Musing: Finger Politics

 And now for something completely different…

*I will warn you this is a VERY tongue-in-cheek problem-solving tactic. If you lack a sense of humor and/or have no appreciation for imagination riddled with dark twistedness, this is probably NOT for you. 

📷 Credit: stokpic from Pixabay

Finger Politics

What’s the best thing about the 21st century? 

“Political ads come right to your phone. No need to drive or get the mail or turn on a TV; those toxic messages are delivered DIRECTLY to me. Best thing ever.” 

I hope that was read with sarcasm, an eye roll, or at least a scoff. 

With the constant barrage of spam to my phone, I started thinking about all that goes into election propaganda… the massive quantities of time, money, and energy. Then there’s the side effect of toxic disruptions and interruptions from every media outlet, trash from signs, flyers, mailers, etc… and now direct delivery? I’ll insert my own eye roll!  

Seriously though, being a compassionate solutions-minded human, I’ve got to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to channel that immense force into something more positive, like ending homelessness, investing in mental wellness, cleaning up cities, reinvesting and refining old and dilapidated infrastructures, positively impacting education (psst...replace the political figureheads with good quality educational leaders at the helm, and the system will all fall into place. Try it. Prove me wrong.).

I digress.

ANYWAY, how do we clean up the political propaganda? Finger Politics 

This idea originated in 2018. On the way to work, I’d pull out onto Tropicana and there was nothing but a sea of political signs. Every corner was littered with faces and slogans. Every f#cking corner. As if a morning commute isn’t bad enough (*insert eye roll*). Now that elections are looming in 2022, and spam is blowing up my phone, I’ve decided to revisit an old idea.

What is Finger Politics? Each candidate…at every level…in any capacity…pledges to stand behind and back TEN issues/policies throughout their term. Every time they actively go against anything they pledged to do, they get a finger cut off. 

For example, I’m an elected official, and one of my campaign promises was to increase funding for public education, but then I voted against it, or I did anything to intentionally stand in the way of getting funding for public education; I would lose a finger. However, if I voted to increase funding and it still didn’t pass, I’d get to keep my finger. It’s not about always finding success; it’s about following through with what I promised my constituents I would do. 

Plus, with glaring truths at our fingertips (pun intended), there would be no need for dramatic, over-the-top smear campaigns. All ads would be in the same format: a picture of the candidates’ faces with fingers held high and all their pertinent information on the bottom: 

Dale Smith, 7 fingers, 4 years in office

Paula Doe, 3 fingers, 8 years in office

Stephanie Nobody, 9 fingers, 15 years in office

On the back of their face/finger card, every candidate would have the opportunity to explain the finger loss(es) and/or tout any accomplishments, like how they kept their current fingers.

One card. That’s it. Think of all the money and time saved. Plus, all the waste that’s not wasted! Not only does it clean up a literal mess of papers and trash, but there is also a bit of accountability tucked in there. 

Finger Politics may seem a bit harsh and unconventional, but it should only be worrisome for those who lie. An honest person would have nothing to worry about. And it really could be a highly effective way to streamline the overwhelming mayhem of intrusive monstrosities that have become political propaganda. Besides, aren’t we all a bit tired of the dishonest, corrupt mess politics has become?

In conclusion, Finger Politics has many benefits: Less trash in landfills. No more phone spam. No more signage on the roads. No more flyers in mailboxes. No more ads on the TV. No more toxic rhetoric. PLUS, an added element of accountability.

As an added bonus, there would be less need to pursue term limits. Once you’re out of fingers, you’re out. After all, it’s Finger Politics. Not Nub Politics. 

Want to keep your fingers? Say what you mean and mean what you say. 

Finger Politics could be a simple solution to growing and unnecessary problems.