Watery Grave
by Morgan Clyne
Senior Category – 1st Prize  

If only they were brighter.
The first trickle of water reaches the pointed toe of my nude stilettoes, the droplets appearing to peel away from the shiny material. The sound of the running water soothes me as I stare at the pearlescent bathtub now rapidly overflowing, like a tiny ocean, powerful waves rippling outward until they come cascading over the precipice and onto the marble below. I rip my gaze from the deluge of water. It falls upon my silvery image . Blue eyes sparkle back at me. My hair falls loosely upon my shoulders in a shimmering halo of liquid gold. It’s no surprise they all fall for me; I’m perfect.
If only they weren’t so shallow.
It’s so easy nowadays, living in the digital age, to find my prey. I still remember the days before the ‘dating app’. Men, as a species, have not evolved much since then. They are still very primal creatures, with one thing on their mind. You show them a few attractive photos of yourself, they ask you out on a date. You say ‘yes’, and before you know it, your dinner is served straight onto your lap. I remember the last one, his jacket and pants were slightly different shades of black. His hair was gelled yet pieces of it kept breaking free of their waxy bonds. He smelled faintly of body odour and newspaper ink, an acidic and unpleasant mix. He had been nice, but nothing particularly special; a very average man.
If only they were more observant.
I wore my red cocktail dress, and I tied my hair into a loose bun. High heeled shoes & simple makeup; the usual. We went to a restaurant, ate a very expensive meal. He made terrible jokes, I pretended to find them funny. I smiled and batted my eyes, he blushed and downcast his gaze. He paid. It all went according to plan. He offered to drive me home. I gave him directions, left here, straight ahead. He began getting suspicious, I could see his eyes frantically swinging from side to side, as we drove further away from civilisation, but he did not say anything. I told him we had arrived. I felt the excitement building, the anticipation of returning home bubbling up inside me. I got out of the car, he followed.
If only they weren’t so single minded.
The lake lay still and flat, the solemn moon reflecting its pale glow on the glassy surface, only disturbed by the light rain droplets that gracefully fell from the sky. The comforting smell of the lake enveloped me, the earthy rain intertwining with the sweet scent of the native flora. The trees stood proud and tall, a line of soldiers with their ghost-white faces and green eucalypt hats; an array of green sitting tentatively at their feet. A quiet symphony engulfed me. The rustle of the leaves in the wind, the quiet humming of the cicadas along with occasional hooting of a wise old owl. The stars softly twinkled in the inky blackness above. One singular winding tree framed the water’s edge, creating an archway above the sandy shore.
If only they understood that beauty can mask secrets.
I reached up and took out my hair, letting it sway softly in the wind. I stepped out of my shoes, removing them one at a time. The dry leaves crunched slightly under my feet as I slowly walked towards the water’s edge. The cool water lapped at my ankles, begging me to immerse myself deeper into her comforting depths. As I waded deeper my dress fastened itself to my body, as if it were a part of my skin; glued on by the watery embrace. I turned toward him, almost half of my body submerged in the water. Smiling demurely, as we women are meant to, I held my hand out to him; beckoning him to me. He walked toward me, too infatuated to be cognisant of the path he was taking.
If only they knew how to resist the siren’s spell.