The sun and the sailors were still asleep when the red women came. They painted the sky scarlet before the first golden rays chased them away and onto the ships. The sailors were aroused by the sound–like a thousand singing sirens had risen out of the sea. Their voices were like the ocean itself. Rising, falling, breaking points, high winds, and low tide. The captain appeared with his men, and the world was quiet. The red women took them then, and both men and women of the sea sang–rising, falling, breaking points, high winds, and low tide–and the sun fled with the onset of tempest. In the end, there was nothing left. No storm, no ship, no men, and no women. But the sky was painted scarlet and chased away the last golden rays, and now the sailors delight in red nights, but take warning at red mornings.
prose