Creative Piece

JAWS: Chapter Two

The Shark’s Point of View

                I find myself drifting closer to shore, sensing another set of prey that has fallen into my merciless trap. Strangely enough, my stomach still bothers me, the young woman from dawn not completely distinguishing my ruthless hunger.

                The scent of human blood draws me to him; a petite boy with a small gash on his knee, possibly from the jagged grains of sand that make up the densely populated beach. Is this worth it? Risking my existence for a rapid snack; aware that the dozens of other swimmers, stroking leisurely through the waves, may witness my attack. The water turning n  alarming bright red, causing the bystanders into a panic, as they urgently hurry to shore. One glance of a shark my size would force the beaches to eventually be shut down, then my food source will completely vanish; I will most likely die of starvation.

                And this innocent child, what will become of his family? How will they leave on, after their most prized possession is brutally devoured by a mindless animal. Is that what I am? An animal? I’m starting to believe so; my actions in the past few hours have been heartless and pure iniquity. I am positively damned to hell, for I have not only taken an innocent life for my own pleasure and enjoyment, but broken the most sacred law in the food chain. I am a predator; not a killer.

                But I am unable to change the past and what’s done is done. I gradually approach the youthful fellow, not wanting to warn him of my presence or scare him off. His legs dangle from a bright yellow raft, causing my mouth to water. I soon find enough strength to take a small nibble, my teeth stabbing through his left foot. He tries to scream for assistance, but I forcefully drag him beneath the surface, the sound of his cries drowned out by bubbles and splashes.

                I observe a couple of teenagers back away from the area, blood now spurting from his wounds. I suddenly hear a lifeguard blow his whistle, having finally seen the boy’s fight for survival. The yellow raft pops, perhaps my pointed teeth putting enough pressure on the tube, for it to explode. I see many concerned mothers carry their loved ones to safety, the sound of terror obvious in their high-pitched shrieks.

                I quickly flee the scene, the struggling boy, still jammed in my mouth. As I glide away, a trail of his blood pours behind me. Before I can escape, out of the corner of my eye I see that the body of water is now lifeless, not a single soul still in the water. All that occupies the shore is a middle-aged woman who calls out for her son. An adolescent who will never again feel the warmth of his mother’s hug, who will never experience their first kiss, who will never be able to graduate high school, all because of my actions. All because I chose to become a cruel, man-eating machine.