Legs

The silhouette splashed in the water above him, sending the brine into a whiteish foam.

Bruce frowned. The seals didn’t usually venture out here, and it was too big for a gull. It had similar proportions to a turtle, except turtles didn’t move like that. So what in the ocean was it? He swam closer, circling from below.

Pink flesh, little fur, and a second skin – which only covered part of it – with a palm tree pattern: it was a person, a human male.

Bruce’s furrowed brow deepened. What was he doing out here, so late in the evening, all alone? Bruce had started getting more active for the night – as always. But weren’t humans rather fond of the sun? This person must have gotten lost, hence its signals of panic. He ought to help him. Plus – and this was a semi-selfish reason – if he came to the rescue, he might befriend one of these strange beings. He’d always wanted to have a human friend. Bruce slowed his approach to let the human know he was a friend. He opened his mouth, smiled, and circled him a few times so the lad could get used to his presence.

The young man started to scream and thrash in the water. His swimming capabilities decreased as his terror rose. He fought against the water as if he could cling to the surface if he struggled hard enough. He coughed and spluttered as he swallowed brine.

Ah. Oh dear. If Bruce let him continue, at this rate, he’d drown in a minute. At least, he thought that would be the case. Bruce couldn’t quite remember but thought that humans couldn’t breathe underwater. He should learn more about them if he wanted to be their friend. If only they weren’t so skittish. Well, there was no way around it. Bruce had to swim in. He unhinged his jaw as wide as possible, took the boy into his mouth, and lifted him to the surface. ‘Keep still…’

The young man struggled in Bruce’s jaws, thrashing against him. He slashed and sliced his vulnerable flesh upon Bruce’s razor-sharp teeth.

‘Quit it, friend,’ mumbled Bruce around his mouthful. ‘Quit it or you’re going to hurt yourself.’

But the lad struggled on. Then his leg fell off. And so did one of his arms. He began releasing a strange red liquid into the water and Bruce’s mouth. His screams rose in pitch until he sounded like a hungry seagull.

Bruce gagged. How disgusting! He’d only been trying to help. Who in the ocean would respond like this to a potential friend? He spat him out, but the rank flavour remained on his tastebuds. He looked back at the young man, astounded.

He had started to sink, his arm clawing at the water, his leg kicking and spasming. His screams had faded to weak grunts and blubbering gargles.

Bruce gasped. Oh no, he couldn’t leave the poor fellow out here to drown. Not when bits of him could get snapped off. Bruce had to do something. He had to take action. He wanted the humans to like him; here was his chance to be a hero. Never mind that this man didn’t seem to like his help. Sometimes, you had to give friendship a nudge to get it going. He nuzzled the man to the surface, using his snout to keep his head above the water.

The young man struggled against Bruce but couldn’t do much because he was missing two of his four limbs. However, he succeeded in scraping off most of his skin against Bruce’s scales.

What was this fellow’s problem? Why was he making it so hard for Bruce? Why couldn’t he accept Bruce’s help? And now look at him, missing an arm and a leg. Bruce wasn’t sure, but he thought it’d take humans a while to grow those back, unlike starfish. He held the man above the water, but without his help, he’d drown. So now what?

In the water, a rumble trembled along the currents.

Bruce froze. He knew that sound anywhere. It was a boat. So that was where this man had come from! Bruce should return him to his kind to stop them worrying about him. He swam towards the vibrations whilst balancing four-sixths of the human on his nose.

The boat bobbed up ahead in the encroaching darkness. Torchlights sliced through the surrounding waters like ethereal dorsals.

Bruce swished up to the stern and rolled the human onto the platform. He then bit the boat and gave it a friendly tug to let the others know that their friend was back, safe and sound.

Someone screamed, and footsteps pounded the deck. A woman came into view, shining a torch about. She skidded to a halt when she spied the man Bruce had rescued. ‘P-Peter? Peter! IT’S PETER!’

Bruce sighed. All was right with the world. He was bound to become besties with these people.

The woman shrieked when she got a proper look at the man. She nudged and nudged and nudged him, but Peter did not respond. The woman turned to the side and vomited into the water. A gruff voice from behind her asked what was wrong. She wiped the puke from her face and groaned. ‘It’s Peter. I found him. He— He’s dead.’

Dead? Bruce approached the boat and nuzzled the lad, but there was no response. Even his sensitive detector organs couldn’t pick up any signs of life. Oh no. Bruce had tried his best, but he’d been unable to help this stray human, who’d wandered into a place he shouldn’t have. It was brutal, but hey, that was nature for you.

The woman spotted him. Her face went white, and she stumbled backwards away from the railing. She cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed. ‘SHARK! SHARK, IT’S A SHARK!’

Bruce’s grin faltered. Yes, he was a shark. So what? What did that have to do with anything? He didn’t yell out different species’ names whenever he saw them; that would be ridiculous. ‘Seal! Starfish! Crab! Seagull!’ So, what was she trying to convey here?

The woman continued to screech. ‘SHARK! SHARK! A SHARK KILLED PETER! OH MY GOD, OHMYGODOHMYGOD. OH MY GOD!’

Bruce’s eyes widened. Did he kill him? No. No! He’d been trying to help. If the young man had died, it had indeed been an accident – nobody’s fault. He’d tried to help, but it hadn’t worked. If Bruce hadn’t intervened, the fellow would have drowned and sunk to the ocean floor. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault that the human had torn himself to pieces against his teeth. That would be obvious to anyone, wouldn’t it? ‘No, you don’t underst—’

The water exploded next to his left pectoral fin. ‘STAND ASIDE, LISA!’

Bruce twitched and avoided the projectile at the last second. He had 450 million years of evolutionary instinct to thank for that. But what had happened? What in the ocean was that? ‘Hey, wha—’

The water burst again, grazing his sandpaper skin and sending blood drops into the brine.

Bruce yelped, more out of surprise than pain. A wound had to penetrate deep past his teeth-like placoid scales to cause harm. What had startled him was seeing where the projectile came from.

A man with a thick moustache stood in the cabin’s doorway, silhouetted against the boat’s light. He wore an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt that revealed his paunch. He held a large shiny object that protruded several inches in his hands: a gun.

Bruce gasped. He understood. The reaction of the first man, how he’d fought against Bruce’s help. The response of that girl as soon as she’d seen him. The attack from the boat. These humans held a prejudice against anyone who looked like him. This sort of behaviour was appalling. He no longer cared about becoming friends with these humans.

They were shark racists.

He turned and swam away, head held high, as bullets punctured the waves and the woman wailed into the night.

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Sunday, June 9, 2024

Written for the June 2024 #BlogBattle: ‘Silhouette’