I had this feeling of dying. My spirit was debating whether or not to stay inside my body. It moved in & out as if flirting with the idea. I was ambivalent to the flirting. My human life was ending & I was trying to find peace about it. I thought, oh this is how they will remember me then. They’ll be sad. But then a stronger eager to fight back, to actively pick life overcame me.
I pushed my hand through the salt water, soaked in my own blood, into the mouth of my attacker. I couldn’t see him or her. I just felt. I felt sharply pointed teeth talking of harm. I felt smooth, like my hand was gliding along the seat of a leather couch. But this couch was moving frantically & it wanted to kill me. I wondered what it would be like to lose an arm before finally my desire to live kicked my ass. I pushed hard, until my hand caught ahold of a part inside the shark’s mouth. I pulled & twisted inside its throat. I think it needs what I’m pulling to breathe. My fighting back was working. I felt a noise, through my bobs up & down in search of unsalted air. The noise was a pop, like I’d broke something meaningful to the shark’s living & he/she didn’t like it.
It stopped attacking.
I don’t know if its departure is short-term or fatal. I need rescue. I pushed my hand that had once held shark throat into my own, asking the blood to stay inside my body. It was pouring out of the teeth marks singing death’s name. But I was calm. Either way this goes, I was calm now. The pressure over the urgency of life saving was gone. The flirting wasn’t dangerous anymore, it just was. I had done what I could. I need rescue.