I leapt. I jumped. I sprang into the air, feeling as free as a songbird. My navy and silver-tufted wings flapped somewhat gracefully in the open sky, as I soared into the open void of that beautiful blue ocean above the ground.

I slashed through the clouds, my wingspan slicing through the white fluffy-like appearance. My left wing was a bit damp from the water concentration in the cloud, so I did a somersault and left my wing to dry in the warm sun’s rays. Oh, how nice it felt, just to be up in the air.

Whenever I flew like this, I just felt free. No longer tied down by the weight of this world. The knots holding me were severed, the chains linked to me broke as if they were brittle, and the tape that was wrapped around me was cut, releasing me into the open air. Ah the joy of being a male siren.

Oh, sorry. Are you a bit confused? Here. Allow me to elaborate on things.

My mother, secretly a siren in human form, met my father when they were both very young, just growing into their twenties. They had me three years later. When I was born, I didn’t cry. I did something more unusual. I squawked. You know, like a seagull? Or a crow? The only thing they knew was that babies were NOT suppose to make that kind of noise when born.

My father was extremely confused, but my mother knew what I was. I was actually the first half-human, half-siren male to be born. This did not sit well with my father, and especially not well at all when my mother unveiled her true form days later: Large, white, majestic wings with hints of navy streaked across the tips; sharp curved talons that looked as if they had been perfectly manicured recently; a beak as golden as the sun itself.

It took my dad a day or two to organize his scattered thoughts. I mean, it was a pretty big shock, to find out you had a siren for a wife, and on top of it all, a small half-in-half siren child.

My mother was very pleased with my birth. She mothered me like a normal child, or so I believe. Human mothers feed worms to their young, right? No? Ok, so not a perfectly normal childhood, but I turned out all right.

Actually, I think my mother could not have done better with reproducing. Both of my parents were charmingly beautiful. My mother was fit, and my father had a stocky build, and they definitely turned heads when arriving at a party. I was extremely ravishing, as some admirers put it. I was athletic to boot, mostly because I was light as a feather. Ha! Feather.

When I was about eight, I was standing on my bed, doing what any normal eight year old would do: I was jumping on it even though mom told me not to. Anyhow, my dresser’s mirror was close to my bed. I looked at my black ruffled hair, and carefree expression. Then I bounced around really quick, and for a moment, I thought I saw a bump on my back. No it was two. I turned my torso around a bit, and saw two bumps where my shoulder blades would be. But these were oddly shaped, so I got a little anxious.

I ran to my mom, like I always did, and told her what I had seen in the mirror. She first looked confused, then her face flooded with relief and happiness. She sat me down on the couch in the living room, and explained to me what I was and what she was. I did not believe her at first, but then she showed me her true form, like she had shown dad the day I was born.

At first, it was hard to comprehend, but later on, I accepted that I was the first male siren/human to be born. The bumps on my back were my wings, and they were growing downward, so when I wore normal clothes, they would just go into my back. Like nothing was there.

Only something was.

I’m here to tell you how I came to be. I’m here to tell you my story. This is the story of my siren song.