My mind runs wild as I sit on the surfboard, up to my chest in the cold. This is dark water. Hands bite cold in the offshore breeze as I wait for another wave. These lulls are psychological terror.
I cannot avoid thinking: what prehistoric jagged-tooth monster might come rocketing out of these dark watery depths at any moment with its triangle teeth bared, jaws clamping, tail thrashing? Its rough, sandpaper skin rasps coarsely against my wetsuit for an instant before dozens of sharp teeth bite down - hard - to mortally wound me.
When the great white shark bites, it powerfully shakes its head side to side, helping the lower teeth saw off large chunks of flesh as the upper teeth hold onto its prey. With a thrash of its tail, the shark swims away until I bleed to death, returning later to eat. Except that as soon as it bites into me, it senses that I am not proper shark food and it swims away in search of another meal - leaving me to survive, or die, on a lonely beach.
(Full story coming soon)
