Kyle
Roberts
January 23, 2013 JAWS:
From the Shark’s Perspective
Point Of
View
I set out for prey, intending to
find a food source that would reduce the undeniable hunger and pain twisting in
my stomach. The moon begins to rise, its radiance and reflection glistening on
my skin as glide through the crashing waves. There is a slight breeze blowing
through the air, bringing a chill to my dorsal fin, which sashays through the murky
ocean.
I sense her paddling out to sea,
the noise bouncing in and out of my eardrum; her delicate splashing and
movements leading me to her silky white figure. Her legs dangle, from above, as
if they were bait perched atop the surface, hanging from a silver hook. A
mouthwatering sensation occurs in my mouth, her beautiful and leisurely
movements testing my basic instincts; my appetite ferociously growls with agony
and despair.
I dive through the upcoming
waves, now prepared to take a bite, aware of the life-taunting eternity and
consequences that await me. I have no other choice; the lack of fish
inhabitants in the cold and crystal clear waters of Amity Island has caused the
shark population to decrease drastically. As far as I know, I am the only one
left. Once the blood reaches my taste buds, I will develop a liking for human
flesh, and be forced to continue hunting and devouring innocent people,
spending their vacation on the island paradise.
What
have I succumbed to? Is this really the path I desire to take? My hunger gets
the best of me and I cautiously brush against her foot, not wanting to warn her
of my presence. If she becomes startled, she will positively swim back to the shore;
humans are frightened quite easily. She treads in place, floating with the
current drawing her out to sea. I open my bulky set of jaws and sink my razor
sharp teeth deep into her leg; tugging her beneath the water. I can feel her struggling,
but her blood has already reached the tip of my tongue, and I have no intention
of releasing my grasp. She begins to thrash around anxiously, pounding her clenched
fists against my rough, strapping build.
The
sound of her blood-curdling screams are subtly heard from above the surface, regretful
cries that I will forever her in my most terrible nightmares. I push my teeth
deeper into her bones, her skin tearing apart, blood flowing immensely from the
pain stricken wound. I begin to masticate, her abdomen slowly sinking into my
mouth. I chew with great force, her punches growing weak and feeble.
The
vibration patterns of her slamming against the sea shows signs of tiredness; I suppose
the tug of war battle is coming to an end. I am finally able to swallow her
legs, the meat diminishing into my digestive system, relieving my stomach of
its agonizing starvation. My teeth are still pressed into her waist; I suppose
it may feel like thousands of ragged needles piercing through her flesh. The
victim finally accepts her fate, and her life is obsolete with one last bite.
My
actions, although regretful, are somehow satisfying. I am willing to repeat my
actions as many times needed, for I haven’t felt such pleasure and empowering
emotions in quite some time. Amity Island will be my feeding ground; the
sensational feeling in my stomach is delightful. I flee from the crime scene,
ready for morning to come. Ready for the fiery shine of sunlight to awaken me
come tomorrow morning, and the oblivious tourists to enter the sea, stepping
right into my trap.
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