Blood in the water

The sharks surround him, six of them now, circling slowly, their fins slashing smoothly through the water as he thrashes desperately, believing even in his terror that there is some way out, always some path to safety, he just has to out-swim the monsters, out-think them as he believes he always can.  But he’s never been up against foes like these before, these unstoppable killing machines, methodical in their effortless pursuit, their eyes cold and emotionless, watching him flail with increasingly exhausted and ineffective strokes.   He is unused to being prey, having lived his whole life as predator, a pack leader by unearned right, but now he is alone, those who might save him either too far away or freshly eaten themselves.  There is blood in the water and it is absolutely inevitable that there will be more.

Swim Donald, swim.