Siren – Arienne Taylor

Your friend gives you an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Remember that money you let me borrow a couple weeks ago? Well, consider it paid.”
“When I gave you money, I expected money back.” You hold up a ticket to a performance that evening. “This is not money.”
“No, it’s better than money. Don’t you know what that is? It’s a ticket for the Silver Siren.”
“So?”
“So? These sell out faster than that.” He snaps his fingers. “That’s gold, right there.”
“I’m never going to get my money back, am I?”
He just grins. “By the end of the night, you’ll be thanking me. I promise.”
And now you’re here.
Everyone is dressed to the nines. A waiter seats you at a small table in front of the stage.
He hands you the drink menu and you try not to look surprised. This is a fancy club. You order
the cheapest thing you see and hand it back.
Then the lights dim and the curtains open. A woman is standing on the stage and you
applaud along with everyone else. You see now why she’s called the Silver Siren; she’s got
platinum-blond hair. She’s beautiful.
She begins to sing. Somewhere in the middle of one of her songs the waiter must have
come with your drink because it’s there on the table when you look over. It’s not bad for being
overpriced.
Then you look up and the Siren is off the stage and walking toward you, microphone in
hand. You look away, pretending to be occupied with your drink. She can’t really be walking to
you, they never do. It’s always that one guy with a drugged smile on his face.
But then you see her shoes, her white sparkly dress. She is there, right in front of you.
She smiles as you meet her blue eyes, her focus only on you. You can’t even understand what
she’s singing, but you feel like she’s thinking about you. Whatever the song’s about, it’s about
you.
Then she turns away, and her dress brushes your leg. You can feel everyone looking at
you and looking at her, but you don’t care. You had a private moment with her, and they didn’t.
Your friend is waiting outside when it’s over.
“So what’d I say? Better than money?”
“Of course not,” you say. “But that reminds me: remember when you forgot my birthday
a few months ago?” You grin at the look on his face. “I think another ticket would almost cover it.”

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About aloudqmu

Aloud is a monthly poetry and spoken word open mic night, and literary magazine. We are based in Glasgow University's Queen Margaret Union, Glasgow, Scotland, UK. Here we wish to publish performance videos from our open mic nights, event updates, and the writing featured in our monthly Aloud Magazine, and some of the writing that didn't quite make the final cut.
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