Page 3 of For the Strange and Surprising

My blurry gaze darts in all directions as I scramble for the surface. The shadow of the aluminum boat lingers a short distance away, but I need air.

I was inadvertently killing myself while I was daydreaming about death swallowing me whole. Now, instead of the romantic ocean coffin—where barnacles and tiny sea creatures cover my skeleton—my body is going to be feasted on by sharks.

I’m not really the poet I pretend to be; the melancholy mood I’ve been in makes me fantasize like a new age philosopher.

I don’t want to die.

I want to live, to change my ways, to stop ignoring the world.

When I make it back to shore, I’m going to tell my neighbor that I think he’s hot.

Maybe.

That might be pushing it.

I breach the surface with an agony-filled gasp and immediately start coughing up all the water I’ve inhaled. Everything hurts, and I almost drowned myself. But I don’t have time for lonesome reprimands over my newfound suicidal tendencies.

I need to get to the boat.

It’s so close, but it’s so far away. I push myself, swimming as fast as possible while praying that I don’t become fish food today. Just a little farther, and I’m able to see that the bottom is face-up.

I grip the edges, struggling to flip it over. I have nothing under my feet to use as traction. And it’s too heavy to lift on my own.

Damnit.

Scratching at the grooved bottom for something to grab hold of, I try to finagle myself on top of it. My exhausted body does not want to help my eager mind, and I decide on the spot that I’ll start working out again. If I had more stamina, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Finally, I find purchase on the ribbing and pull with all my might. I drag myself over the side and hug the slimy bottom of the boat, laughing as tears stream down my cheeks.

I’m near hysteria, exhausted, and... Fucking alive.

After I catch my breath, I lean up, squeezing my knees against the edges as I glance around to gather my bearings. There are two shores close by, both within swimming distance, but I observe the water carefully. I need to rest for a moment before attempting the thousand or so yards between me and solid ground.

I can do it.

I've always been self-sufficient and resourceful. I have no doubts about my swimming capabilities… when I’m not being chased. I was a finalist in the Olympic trials, but no matter how many wins and ribbons I had in the past, I can’t out-swim sharks. There is no two-hand touch to stop the clock or the massive teeth from ripping me apart.

It’ll be me getting my ass out of the water.

Are sharks really my biggest fear right now?

Yes. Yes, they are.

I just survived a waterspout and nearly drowned myself. The only thing left out there that frightens the daylights out of me is sharks. I may swim like a fish, but this is their domain.

I swallow the lingering fear down, burying it in the pit of my stomach so that I can freak out later.

My eyes narrow as I turn from right to left, checking both masses of land for movement. Common sense tells me that the beach to the left isn’t the Tampa coast that I departed from before the storm. I have no idea where I am, though.

The land to my right is a cliff-face. Trees grow all the way to the edge, the roots shooting out of the rocks like tentacles reaching out for me. Intuition tells me that isn’t the choice for me. Simply staring in that direction makes my body shiver.

But maybe I’m in shock.

To my left, the white sand is shouting my name. It looks deserted, which is both appealing and terrifying.

“Is it possible that you’re overreacting a bit?” I question myself, then snort as I answer.

“Of course, I’m overreacting, but I’ll be okay. I just need to get to the shore. I wonder if the rope is still attached to the boat?”