Hunting Season - Anne Carroll

A siren wails, crying a wretched cacophony across the open sea. From atop the ship’s mast, Scout spots a cluster of scales glistening with moonlight in the shoals of a nearby island and smirks. Those bitches never know when to shut up, do they. Scout barks down to Captain on the bridge deck who changes course accordingly. The body of a siren fetches a pretty price, dead or alive.

She sees him coming. Jesus, of course she sees him coming in that ship, that hulking mass staining the rolling horizon. Siren scoffs hearing him slosh through her shoal’s waves, but still puts on a good show crying, gasping, writhing when Captain grabs her.

He jabs his filthy fingers into her mouth. Yanks her jaws open wide. Pearly whites glint back at him like a dagger in the sun. Siren whimpers, and Captain digs his nails into her even harder. He envisions the fat sum he’ll cash in for this haul as he begins taking inventory pushing at the incisors and the canines and the-

CRUNCH. Fangs impale flesh as she clamps down.

Captain howls, a sound of pain that reverberates throughout the deep blue. The bigger they boast, the louder they scream, thought Siren rolling her eyes. Still a captain’s body would add nicely to her collection on the ocean floor.

This is Anne Carroll's first year at UAlbany and first time submitting to a literary magazine. Currently she is majoring in English and Economics. Anne has enjoyed being involved in ARCH this semester, and looks forward to future events.