ze Demented Kitten's photostream

Days End.
A short story by Me.


She stands there with her toes buried into the wet sand, cool water alternately pushing and pulling at her ankles. It reminds her of every relationship she’s ever had--the closer she got, the more she was sucked in. So she would take two steps back, and it would be only her who was left.

She stands there staring into that endless expanse of darkness for what seems like hours. To
anyone passing by she would appear to be waiting for someone…or something. She glances down to
the paring knife in her hand, then back out at the water.

‘This is almost too easy.’, she whispers.

She takes a look around and, satisfied that she is alone, brings the knife up and slashes it back down. A deep cut on her wrist immediately spills burgundy blood. She holds her arm out over the churning waves and watches as the blood mixes with the briny water. This goes on until the bleeding
slows to a drizzle. She takes a few steps into the water--hesitant at first--then, telling herself she is going to die anyway, with a bit more vigor.

After she is about thigh deep, she brings the knife up and slices herself open once more. Again she stands as waves try to topple her, watching the wound run dry. She squints her eyes and tries to make out if there are any fin-like shapes nearby. It is almost black with no moon, so all she can see are the various waves cresting and crashing. She knows they are out there though. This is South Florida after all, and she just let a pint of blood fall into the water. Her head begins to swim.

She imagines four sharks circling just under the surface; watching as she is sucked into the nightmare she has instigated. She takes a few more steps in, gasping as the cold water leaches away more body heat.

She is waist deep now.

Her wounded arm bobs in the water, a teaser for whatever is out there. Fear is beginning to creep inside her mind. Digging her feet into the ocean floor so she is not swept away by the raging tide, she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood--just another enticement for those that lurk beneath. She shivers from both the biting cold and her terror.

She is going to die tonight.

It is going to hurt.

A lot.

Hopefully, they will sever a major artery or her spinal cord; at least then it will be over quickly. Before she can lose her nerve, she takes a deep breath and dives under the water. She swims as far and as fast as she can--all the while worried she will swim face-first into a shark's gaping maw.
Breaking the surface, she sees that she has swum almost 100 feet.

She cannot touch here.

She has no idea how deep it is—there is nothing to hold onto so she doesn’t get swept further out.

This is it.

She waits, treading water, trying to sense any movement under the water that may mean a shark is approaching.

Is it better to know or not?

Suddenly, she feels a sharp, tugging pain on her left thigh. The water turns red, and she is pulled under too quickly to gasp. She opens her eyes and sees the ugly visage of a hammerhead. She advances on the shark to make it attack her again. It rams its head into her midsection, then loops around and clamps its jaws around her left arm.

She lets out a silent, bubbly scream--and promptly starts to choke on the bloody sea water. Her lungs and throat are on fire, but her limbs have gone numb. She is content to go this way.

As her vision begins to dim, she is vaguely aware of the shark gnawing away at her other leg.

Just as everything goes black, she thinks her final thought:

‘I wonder if I taste good.’