Description of a Shark Attack

86 curved knives clean their white razor tips in the tasteless meat of Coley’s well fashioned arm. The 18 foot animal at the other end thrashes as much as he does enjoying a messy feast. The shoreline bulges with the dumbfounded ignorance of the 80 or so Malibu vacationers obviously appalled at the scene from only a few hundred feet away, but way too selfish to do much about it, or even to resist the fleshy temptations of the crowded, swimsuit-clad beach.

A few ocean grayed men walk slowly in the shallows hoping the next step brings them their badge of courage. Two lifeguards have already sprinted through the water, now only about ten feet from the mangled teen and within the new ocean of his blood. Navy training had uneducated them of fear.

Once clear water pulses with the smell of raw blood. More sharks would soon arrive. It didn’t matter that the shark didn’t like the taste and would spit his once valuable flesh out almost immediately. 6 more similar ‘just one bite’s would leave a human without blood and shredded. As Coley thrashed he at last feels the release of the powerful jaws that had been, moments earlier, weaving through his flesh. The release only brought the simultaneous withdraws from adrenaline and the somewhat reasoned focus to his stead had him longing for the shark to return. At least there was hope with that.

The enormous muscle of the ravenous juvenile 12 foot Great White winded its damp-gray fin into the bright twinkling periwinkle of the California skyline. It was slashed almost as bad as the boy. A battered animal. Though evidently rogue, it was hard for anyone to look it in the face with judgment or rage. It had been on the other side of many battles. This was his territory though after all. What right has the robber to sue the homeowner for swatting him while he was intruding?

The lifeguards load him onto the banana-like stretcher now fading into unconsciousness.  His left arm dangled upon the string that was once his triceps. His rib cage was ravaged, bloodlines were shawdilly covered up, and the bite marks traced an almost completely decimated left side. The stretcher pulls past the ‘courageous’ men in the shallows, each providing a hand to ease the load of the exhausted life guards.                

The darker life guard ran up the sand, (slowly to those watching, but quite fast for those who have ever tried such an exercise), he slid rather movie star like under the tower and grabbed the Shark Attack kit. It wouldn’t help. The shoreline clenched itself to center on what was left of the man now laying on one of the rapidly provided towers. Everyone wants to have a part. Enough to be legitimate, not enough to actually hurt. The AED revived his heart, but the lack of blood and the disconnection of veins almost led to question that being a good thing. The other lifeguard, a certainly well fed and rather homely looking southern young man began his newly learned process of CPR. Three pumps… Breath… breath. Three pumps…bre…..