What Lurks Beneath

Cupped hands seem only to stroke the glassy surface.  Cut and divided by forward motion and pointed board.  The shape of a solitary surfer, semi immersed, his upper body highlighted by a wetsuit, paddled to catch the moment.  A moment, in the shimmering, western horizon’s sinking sun.

From shore he appeared to be at one with his world, perfectly fitting its fluidity, moving as water does, as water will in graceful flow, within the oceans unseen magnetic harmony.  Yet another seduction rose and taunted him with its perfection, just beyond his ability to catch this wave.  He sat beneath the surface, upon white foam and fiberglass, waiting for another set offering the choice of seven waves, each demanding his energy, skill and his respect.

No wind marked the ocean surface.  No sound declared the presence of further waves.  In half light he must have felt darkness enveloping anticipation, thinking days shouldn’t end like this.  Paddling closer to where the sun had been moments before, perhaps searching for any wave to carry him back to shore.  Inky shrouds of darkness removed contrary hope, but no waves simply meant a long paddle back.  No big deal, though shore was equally black.

People struggled to comprehend the images on the news.  Merely 48 hours earlier we had been at that exact place.  A shredded black wetsuit had been found on the high tide mark.  Human blood and tissue within its lining, the sum of what had been male, washed up among fragments of a surfboard.  They determined no shark could have done this; whatever had taken him was far more aggressive!   They speculated that falling seal populations must hold a clue.  But we considered hands seemingly to only stroke the surface and how quickly, a darkening ocean seemed to have suddenly grown silent!

*A Flash Fiction by Rob Pearldiver*

Copyright © 2013 Art of the Diver with all rights reserved.