The siren is singing karaoke as the moon tries to learn how a heartbeat glows in the dark. There are many things that the siren could sing about, mostly the stuff that nightmares wish they had access to and childhood aspirations never realised they were going to lose. Colours first, grades worthy of the kitchen fridge, sand flowing like silk between toes while the hourglass catches its breath, sunlight parting the curtains like a lover to sprawl on the sofa, a four leaf clover found faster than your other friends, the bedsheets of your college sweetheart that you were too nervous to sit on, the sky the night you caught a shooting star swim to another galaxy, the grapes you plucked to eat during that family trip when you were eight. 

 

Then faster now, pictures hanging on the corridor of time, the flash of contained anger when your mother found out you had lied to her and you realised you had no choice but to lie, the straw in your hamster’s cage after you came home and saw the door open, the beer you drank two bottles of just to laugh the way they wanted you to, the look in your friend’s eye when you sulked about your grade and later found that they had done worse than you, the sky outside your window when you didn’t feel like waking up, the bruises you wore long sleeves to hide, the Cadbury’s chocolate bar you left under your high school crush’s table and found melted, untouched, at the end of the term during cleaning day. The siren could sing about any of these things, love, power, the power to love, the distance one falls to the ground when one must pick up the pieces left behind and the paper-mache cardboard construction of memories for the therapist. 

 

The siren could sing of all that, but here it only needs to echo man's desires after themselves as glory plays on loop, goals reduced to progress and success. The fly on the wall returns to work buzzing about materialism and shock values auto-tuning themselves to fit consumerism. The siren finds herself singing about numbers at an increasing rate, about promotion pay raises, sales figures soaring, a day, a life that you can spend without looking at the numbers. People rarely change, she muses, thinking about the words falling off their lips half the time. KPI → treasure you have accumulated, Tinder matches → all the forlorn lovers falling over themselves to wave tearful handkerchiefs on the shore that you had to abandon, retrenchment → getting thrown overboard during a raid on your ship. It’s just that, out on the sea, there aren’t many people to compare yourself to -- the overcrowded ship has no space for regret.  

 

At the same time, the siren also finds herself singing about rest more. Being able to take off-days without feeling guilty or coming back to a backlog of piles and piles of papers. Vacations that last more than a long weekend, the brain clocking out from an email inbox, time with family that isn’t on a schedule of sleep deprivation with hair frizzled like nerve-endings beyond repair. The ability to close your eyes, say you’re satisfied, the next thing to prioritise is you. 

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The siren is singing about things coming easily to you, grades you didn’t sweat blood for, the bath of warmth in the afterglow of someone’s smile, the sunday morning your cat came to curl up next to you on the sofa, the job offer call from the interview you had fun at, the awe of spotting a breaching whale for the first time, waking up refreshed enough to make blueberry pancakes, the familiar comfort of rewatching that movie every year in your darkened room. 

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Fortunately, because you're enjoying your retirement, because the siren isn't singing off-key, you put on noise-cancelling headphones and try to fall asleep.