The sound of churning waves rushes through their ears as the cold water soaks into their skin, forcing its way through the pores. The paralysing numbness begins at the together-tied feet and spreads out through their entire bodies as panic fills their lungs like compressed air. Pressure builds up with every meter that they drop. The hysterical movements, almost like seizures, that try to peel off the ropes from their wrists, begin slowing down. Blurriness spreads out in front of their eyes, penetrating their brains making them confuse up and down, left and right. Finally, the burst of desperation as the mouths fly open, inhaling the saltwater that forces its way down their throats like acid. They can almost feel the salt rubbing the skin inside open. The choking coughs and the tears that won't come. The feeling of drowning.
They sink deeper and deeper. When they feel as if the black dots swimming around them finally become one and the agony will shift to forever lasting silence, that is when their legs can suddenly swim, their swollen eyeballs turn white and see crystal clear, their lungs stop resisting the saltwater and they feel like they can breathe again. A sensation of icy calmness spreads through their limbs and revives them. There’s an image appearing repeatedly in their minds. A wooden plank, rough and uneven underneath their naked soles. Cheering men, teeth bared, stomping their boots on the floor of the ship, making the plank shake and sway away under the women's feet. There’s a feeling manifesting itself repeatedly in their minds. The cold tip of a crooked sword between their shoulder blades, tearing a small hole in the thin fabric clinging to their bodies. The choking panic in their throats and the stinging tears in their eyes. The freezing cold when they lose their balance and fall into the sea.
Then, anger fills their veins like fuel and makes their nostrils flare in anticipation. Their muscles tense, lash out and with incredible force they swim to the surface and break through it. And, here they wait. For the next ship with men on board. Men who whistle at and grope women, control and command women. Men who make women walk over the plank into their cold deaths. Men who think it is that easy to get rid of a woman.
And, whenever a ship appears, the fallen women open their lips and sing in their hoarse voices with throats that still sting from the saltwater. Their songs are mesmerising, enchanting to the men on board and one after the other they start wishing to be as close as possible to those voices. As close as possible to those fallen angels in the water with their fair skin, as white as death. Every ounce of common sense leaves them and they leap into the water where they are guided to the ground of the sea. Guided to their bitter-sweet deaths. The last thing they see are the flashing sharp teeth as the women hiss at them and realisation hits the lost men but it is already too late.
This is how men created Sirens. Their own downfall.