Children of the Tide

by Theo Shapiro

  Part I: Fit Tún

  What am I doing here? My parents would chew me up and spit me out if they knew what I was doing. It’s not the fact that I am out at night that would bother them. In fact I often go out with them at night with some of my friends to get food, cruise around, or just socialize. Well, I wouldn’t say friends. Most of the others my parents and I hang out with we don’t really like, but my mom insists we be active in the community. “It’s in our nature to stick together in groups,” my mom always says. I always argue that there are plenty of others that go off on their own, but she insists that they are different and likely to get in trouble. “Not us though”, she would say, “We are different from them and stronger together.” Stronger against what, I asked myself. I think my mom is just one of those parents that are afraid of every dark shadow and assumes there is danger around every corner.

  That makes what I’m doing all the worse. By being out here I am going against everything my parents have taught me. God, I feel alive. I’m so pumped with energy and endorphins I’m surprised I don’t have every female from school swooning over me right now. Even though I’m so far away from any girls I have no doubt they can smell me now, I reek of so much testosterone.

  Up ahead of me is Khan. Khan isn’t his real name, I don’t know his real name to be honest. I don’t know if anybody does. Khan is three grades above me, but he is much older. He’s failed classes so many times that it could be considered illegal for him to even show up at school, but no one says anything. Teachers don’t say anything to him, the Principle doesn’t talk to him, and most everyone in school avoids him. There are those select few that try to hang out with Khan, but those who manage to survive talking to him for more than a few minutes are more afraid of him than anyone a day later. Of course this makes him all the more appealing to the girls at school. His scar doesn’t hurt either. Khan has a long scar that wraps around is body; starting at his eye and running down the length of his body. His left eye doesn’t open all the way because of the scar.

  If anyone else had a scar like that they would be considered hideous, a freak, Frankenstein even, but not Khan. Khan wears that scar like a prize. The scar only adds to the mystery that is Khan. I asked him if his parents knew this is where he went when he went out at this time. Khan just turned, looked at me with that scarred eye, and smiled. His smile showed bone white teeth that looked like they could send a vampire running. Khan turned back without saying a thing. He knew what I was doing. I was fishing for information on him. Khan’s parents were as much a mystery as his name. No one had ever seen his parents. Hell, some people doubted he even had parents. There are several theories as to what happened to his parents. Some say that when he was born they were so scared of their child they ran away and never returned. The popular theory is that Khan killed them, but how is the real question. I had heard every theory from poisoning them to eating them. I really doubted the whole eating them theory, but I’ve heard it more than once.

  Clearly Khan wasn’t going to answer any personal questions and wasn’t in the mood to talk, but I couldn’t help myself. I was filled with so much excitement that I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “I don’t know about yours, but if my parents found out where I was they would kill me. Do you come out here often? Have you ever been caught? I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  Khan was still ahead of me and not speaking. For a second I wasn’t sure if he even remembered I was there. I quickened my pace to catch up with him. I was moving alongside Khan when he glanced over at me.

  “You’re not getting nervous on me are you Shrimp?” Khan asked.

  “What? No way! I’m just excited…and I’m not a shrimp.”

  Khan let out a sound that was a mix between a chuckle and a sigh. It’s true though, I’m not a shrimp. In fact I’m one of the larger guys in my grade. The problem is with my size I’m lacking all the other tools necessary to make myself one of those imposing, popular guys at school. I don’t have the strength or coordination that the other guys have. Going hunting is one of the most popular things to do after school. At first everyone wanted me to tag along. With my size and look I must be a great hunter, right? Not so much. I don’t have the endurance or speed to keep up with the other guys, I don’t have the stealth to sneak up on whatever we’re hunting, and I just don’t like it. If anyone knew I didn’t like to hunt I would be the laughing stock of the school and entire community.

  I’m not sure why I don’t like to hunt like the others. It’s not that I’m squeamish even though our style of hunting ends in a bloody battle. Everyone has a different way to hunt, and our society has its own way as well. Others like us typically live and travel together, but prefer to do their hunting alone. In our society though, we are a community that does everything together as one. We live together and hunt together. At night a hunting party will gather together and go out in search of prey. Then there is the way we kill. When we kill something it is a personal, ritualistic event. I’ve seen and heard of many different ways that others hunt. I’ve heard of killing things with electricity, poison, stealth, rope and traps, sharp objects, even the terrible devices known as guns. Our society believes in the ancient way of killing something; with only the weapons God provided us with. We do not hide behind weapons, but use that with what we are born with to hunt. It may seem bloody and barbaric to some, but to us it is natural and elegant. The only real way to prove one’s worth.

  As I said, the blood is not what deters me from the idea of hunting. The hunters in our society thrive off the sight and smell of blood. My father has told me that those raised in our society have an extra sense that can pick up the smell of blood like a Great White shark. When I see or smell blood I feel nothing. Even the sense of disgust would be preferable compared to the empty hollow feeling that I’m left with. I was taught to believe that the thrill of the hunt is what truly feeds us, and the prize at the end is just the icing on the lobster (whatever that is supposed to mean. I heard someone from school say that and for some reason it stuck in my head). If presented the choice I would prefer my meal be served to me on a silver platter without having to go through all the hullabaloo of hunting, catching, and killing my meal.

  Instead I pretend I love to hunt as much as anybody else. Luckily, I don’t have to put up much of a show. After screwing up several hunts the guys try to leave me behind or go off hunting without me noticing them. They don’t care too much about sparing my feelings. Their attempt at avoiding me is gathering in a large group after school, wrestling, talking about what they were going to go kill, who is going to get the target first, and talking about past hunts. When I come around the topic quickly changes and I feel their eyes on me as they chuckle and mutter under their breath. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re laughing at.

  That’s ok though. I just play my part the same way I always do. I move into the group, look around at all the guys, and muster up my intimidating voice and ask, “So what’s happening guys? We going to go kill something or what? I’m hungry and it’s my turn to eat the catch.”

  The guys will look from one to the other; waiting to see who would step up with some excuse as to why they weren’t going hunting that day. When they first started to try and avoid me they were kind about it, but as time went on the excuses got worse and worse and more insulting. The last time I asked to go hunting one of the guys said, “Yeah, sorry Vince. Today’s not the best day.”

  Usually I would just take the first excuse I’m given, make a show of being upset, and move on. For some reason that day I kept pushing. “Why not? Today seems like as good a day to go hunting as any other and I’m hungry.”

  Another one of the guys answered, “Yeah, we should bring Vince along. Maybe we can do a little fishing and the Shrimp would make great bait.”

  Everyone started laughing, and the name Shrimp has stuck ever since. To make things worse the name shrimp has spread beyond the school. I’ve heard everyone from my neighbors to the authorities greeting me as
Shrimp. “Hey there Shrimp, how are your parents? Hey Shrimp, you stayin out of trouble? You want to go fishing Shrimp?” It got to the point where it wasn’t even worth defending myself anymore. I just took it in stride and ignored it. I had hoped by not showing the name bothered me the others would lose interest in calling me Shrimp, but instead they took it as a sign that I had accepted the name.

  Every time I hear someone call me “Shrimp” I want to tear their face off, but everyone knows that I won’t do anything in retaliation. There is only one person who I would begrudgingly let them call me Shrimp, and that’s Khan. He is the only one that’s close to my age that actually makes me look like a shrimp. Khan is massive and riddled with muscles. What makes him all the more impressive is that he carries his mass with incredible grace. If Khan wanted to he could easily be the best hunter in the school, but always keeps to himself. The fact that Khan likes to hunt alone makes him even more of an outcast. It seems like everyone on our community hunts, even the women, but whenever someone goes out hunting they never go alone. My father is always telling me that we are meant to be with others and those that seek isolation have something wrong with them. Khan not only goes out hunting alone, but finds the area where there is no chance of crossing the path of any others.

  I glance over at Khan and find myself starring at his scar like I was hypnotized. I must have been starring longer than I realized because Khan came to an abrupt stop and turned on me. “What are you starring at Shrimp?”

  “Nothing, I was just, I was just…”

  “Just what? Damn it Shrimp toughen up and speak your mind.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “Because you’re following me and this is where I’m heading. Or did you want me to tell you about the meaning of life?”

  “I’m serious. I can think of a hundred guys from school that would kill to come out hunting with you, but you asked me, and this might come as a bit of a shock to you but I’m not the best hunter or all too big a fan of it.”

  Sarcastically, Khan replied, “What? You? Not the best hunter? With a name like Shrimp I figured you were a killing machine. I can’t believe I was so fooled.”

  “Never mind, just forget it.” But I couldn’t forget it. As excited as I was to be here with Khan I couldn’t get the question out of my head; why me? I’m not the most unpopular guy in school, but I’m pretty low on the totem pole. If it wasn’t for my size everyone would make fun of me. The only other thing I had going for me was my father. When I’m alone I might as well be a moving target for people to make fun of and take their shots at, but if there was any chance of my father finding out or being around you would think I was a fire; they stayed so far away from me.

  My father is one of the authorities in the community. I mean that in the literal and figurative sense of the word. My father is one of the higher ranking public defenders in the community and often keeps everyone safe from trouble and everyone in line. He’s not officially a police officer, Governor, or any other type of official that helps run the community, but he’s paid by the head honchos to keep things in order. I guess you can compare him to a mercenary, but instead of causing trouble he keeps the community together. If that requires a little violence then he has no problem with that and the authorities will look the other way.

  Going beyond that, it could be argued, my father is one of the best hunters in the community. He has led more hunts than anyone and kills his prey with the ruthlessness of a Great White or Tiger shark. In fact I’ve heard he’s gone on fishing trips and he’s killed a Great White all on his own, but he never told me about it and I’ve yet to see any proof. If it was true you’d think he’d keep some kind of memento.

  My father loves to hunt more than he loves…well me. Being such a respected member of the community and skilled hunter it’s no secret that I’m a disappointment to him. I still shudder at the memories of my childhood when he would take me out to hunt, line me up for my first kill, and stare aghast at me as I choked or found some reason not to kill the unsuspecting prey. We would return home; my father furious and not speaking to me. My mother would come to my rescue and say I was still too young to go hunting. My father would just growl under his breath how he would go hunting with his father within the first three months of his birth.

  Despite all the disappointing hunting and fishing trips my father would not give up on me. Every day we would go out and every day resulted in another disappointment for my old caregiver. If it wasn’t for my mother I’m pretty sure my father would have killed me eaten me along with his next fishing catch. As a shrimp I would be the appetizer.

  As I got older my hunting skills improved, slightly. I had gathered the courage to kill, but I never felt the blood thirst or want to kill that everyone else in the community seemed to have. I tried to use the community to hide my squeamishness by joining my father and others in a hunt, but hanging in the back and letting others take the kill and glory. By being a part of the hunting group I figured I would still be doing my part, but that wasn’t true. Our community, partly because of my father, consists of incredible hunters. The hunting party moves as a single unit, almost as if instead of several living organisms out for a kill, we were all united as one with the same mind. Every move from one member would affect another and vice versa. Everyone had a role to play and the slightest mistake would throw the entire hunt off. I’ve heard that there are other things like us that hunt alone or in their own pack, but none of them can be as effective hunters and fishers as our community is. My father taught me alone we are vulnerable, but together we can take on any challenge.

  So even hiding in the back or staying out of the way was no use; I would still cause trouble by being too slow, too loud, falling out of formation, bumping into another hunting compatriot, or let the pray get away. This brings up the worst day in my life. Three years ago my father thought of a way that he thought was a full proof plan to turn me into the blood thirsty son he always wanted. He was going to have me lead the hunt. When my mother and I heard this plan we instantly knew it was a bad idea. There was no way I could be expected to lead a hunt. I tried to find some excuse, but was unable to, and again my mother tried to come to my defense.

  “He’s too young. I need him to help me at home. He has studying to do.” My mother used every excuse in her mother’s handbook, but each was turned down by my father. I assume he believed I had been babied too long and it was time for me to sink or swim. My father declared that I would lead a hunting party the next day and that was final.

  That night I had kept playing out every scenario in my head on how the hunt would go. Even when I tried to envision a successful hunting trip led by me it turned into a disaster. When my father came to get me he told me he had gathered the entire hunting party. It is the right of the lead hunter to choose his hunting party. I had hoped my father would choose a close group of friends or gathered a smaller group in order to make the hunt easier, or at least keep my humiliation a bit more private. When I saw the large size of the hunting party I felt my stomach turn inside out. There were 25 killing machines ready to follow my lead.

  This was a relatively large size for a hunting group. Even though it is common knowledge in our society that hunting in a group is the best way to go, it is also known that it’s easier to hunt with a smaller group. This involves fewer roles to worry about and more stealth. Apparently my father believed leading a large group was the best thing for me. It took everything in me not to turn, flee, and hide. Instead I swallowed my fear, put on a brave face, and took my designated place in front of the pack.

  As I took my place, my father fell in a bit behind me and to my right, taking the place of the adjutant (what we consider second in command). The others fell into their place with the practice and familiarity as a fish takes to water. As the hunters assembled I could hear the mutterings of the doomed hunt that was to come. At this time my absent hunting skills were not as well known to the community as they are now, but there were plenty of rumors and suspicions a
s to my defunct carnivorous instinct.

  As the leader it was my job to choose where the hunt would take place and I took this obligation as my only hope to save face and not embarrass my father. Hunting with my father all those times has taught me where the best places to go are, and where all the worst places were as well. I decided to lead the group to one of the places that were usually scarce of any targets.

  I had hoped that we would go out on the hunt, not find anything, and be forced to return home with no catch, and my families honor none the worse for were. Of course this was not to be.

  After four hours of hunting I was starting to feel the inner fears die down and felt the pride in my deceitful plan start to grow. At the same time I could feel the agitation in my father and the others start to grow. They were thirsty for blood.

  I glanced back at my father to see his expression and I have the feeling he knew exactly what I was doing. The only thing that protected me was that it’s considered a great insult if the adjutant questions the leader, even if the adjutant was my father.

  A hunt can last over ten hours, depending on the leader and success of the day, but with four hours straight without a sign of anything worth killing I had hopes that I only need continue the charade for a couple more hours.

  Then I saw it. It was massive. One of the biggest I had ever seen. I instantly came to a stop and the others stopped behind me. I stopped more because of surprise than my instinct to avoid detection. What was this stupid creature doing out here? There’s never any prey around here. Of all the times I’ve been out here.

  My father appeared beside me like he was a ghost appearing from the darkness. “Good job son.” He said. “For a while I thought you were leading us away from anything on purpose. Apparently you have some of the family blood in you after all. I’ve never seen one this big. You know what to do.”

  My father backed away, leaving me in front of the group on my own. I could feel the tension amongst all the members of the hunting party. Each knew their role to the smallest detail and was ready to pounce like a rubber band stretched to its greatest length possible. From instinct I knew the best way to get at the thing was to surround it on all sides, and with a hunting party this large there would be no way for it to escape.

  For some reason though that’s not what I did. The fear of leading the group and shock of finding such an impressive target was starting to wear off and I felt my courage start to blossom. I started to think that I could do this. I wanted to make my father proud, I wanted to prove those doubters wrong, and most of all I wanted to be a hunter. I wanted to fit in with the society, but I didn’t seem to have the killer instinct that my father and the others had.

  If I could make this kill maybe that would change. By taking down such a quarry perhaps I would finally feel that sense of adrenaline that the others spoke of. For once I would feel the jubilation and inhale the sweet, pungent smell of blood. I would fill my pride as I filled my stomach with the victim that I brought to its untimely demise.

  The others waited for me to give the first direction. Even though the obvious decision was to surround the quarry, there were other options. I could just lead the group on a dramatic chase that would get all our hearts beating as one. With so many members the chase would not last long and would only serve to increase the appetite of the hunting party. There were several ways I could have gone about killing the creature, several of them involved me staying out of the way, but for some reason I wanted more.

  I had silenced several members of the hunting party by leading them to such an impressive quarry, but I could still feel the doubt and sense of superiority many had toward me. I could choose to attack the prey on my own and once and for all show my prowess as a hunter and put myself in the good graces of my father.

  When I told my father and the rest of the hunting party the plan to attack the opposition on my own there was a sense of shock amongst all the members, including my father. My father’s doubt quickly subsided to a look of pride, but the others only shared looks of questioning and doubt.

  I ignored the reactions of the others and absorbed my father’s approving gaze like a flower absorbs the rays of the sun. I turned my focus onto the prey and my father led the hunting party away to give me space to launch my attack. The hunting party would provide me enough space to move about freely, but they would stay close enough in case a threat should appear or the quarry escape.

  The creature had no idea of our presence and was face first in the ground, digging for a meal. I used rocks and cover to work my way directly behind the creature. It must have weighed 200 pounds. It was so large I couldn’t imagine it had the ability to flee even if it knew I was there. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances. I ran through all the hunting techniques my father taught me; first make sure there is no danger lurking around, find your greatest advantage over your prey, sense the movement of the prey almost as if you are a part of it, let the hunger and thirst build in you until you nearly feel your eyes roll into the back of your head in ecstasy, and once you feel this hunger and lust for the kill, attack.

  The first three were easy and I waited for that adrenaline to start flowing, but it never came. As hard as I tried, I could only look upon the prey with a sense of disconnectedness. I didn’t feel like I was one with the creature, I only felt pity for the large dumb animal. What thrill was this? Twenty five natural born killers against this large, fat, stupid thing. This wasn’t sport, this was bullying. As I started to pity the creature I lost my concentration and forgot all the good that would come if I killed this thing. I forgot about the approval of the hunting party, the admiration of my classmates, and most importantly, the respect of my father.

  Instead I could only think of letting this pathetic excuse for an opposition go. I decided I couldn’t kill this thing, but I couldn’t just turn back to the hunting party and explain my thinking. The idea of showing mercy or pity is as alien to our society as air is to a sting ray. In order to let this thing go I would have to make it seem like I went for the kill, but somehow allowed the thing to escape.

  I knew I was in perfect position for the kill and at any moment I would be expected to attack. If I waited any longer my father and the hunting party would know something was wrong. I lunged forward and attacked the prey. The thing was so oblivious if I was truly trying to kill it I would have been able to rip it in half and serve it for a meal to the hunting party before it even knew it was dead.

  I had to make this look good. I couldn’t let on that I was trying to let the thing escape. I targeted an area where I knew I could hurt the creature, but leave it with enough strength to escape. I needed to leave it with the full capability to get away otherwise the hunting party would be able to run it down.

  I assaulted the prey in the exact spot I wanted and took hold of the oblivious thing. As soon as I made my attack the pungent odor of blood filled my nose. A small amount of blood found its way into my mouth and ran down my throat. Instead of the invigorating fuel the others claim it to be, I found the metallic taste to be as refreshing as motor oil.

  From behind I heard the cheers from the hunting party. Apparently my show was very convincing. I backed away from the creature as it hysterically thrashed and kicked. The others assumed I was playing with the thing, allowing it to let the fear grow along with my lust for its’ blood, but the only thing growing was my sense of disgust at myself for attacking this thing.

  I lunged again at the creature once more and timed my attack to let the contracting creature hit me upside the head. The blow barely grazed my head, but from their position the others would have no idea how hard I was truly hit. I hit the ground and pushed myself across the ground in an overly dramatic act of violence that would make the kindest of critics leap from their seats and gauge their eyes out.

  As I expected, seeing my predicament, the others in the hunting party rushed at the creature. Not so much coming to my aide, but seeing their chance to be the one to take down the monstrous, wounded, quarry.
Even though I had lost my chance for the kill, as the leader I could still command the group. The creature had regained its’ senses by now and was desperately fleeing the scene. The only way to save the slow moving beast was to stop the oncoming wave of death.

  As bloodthirsty as our community is we are a cautious group foremost and do not rush into a situation where we are not completely in control. I shouted out that the creature was actually not alone and there were others coming to its aid. This stopped the hunting party in their tracks. The idea of chasing a creature with an unknown situation and the possibility of swimming into an ambush forced my compatriots to stop and assess the situation. This gave the wounded, alone creature time to reach its true objective.

  When I attacked I had seen a cave that appeared to be the things home. It painfully scurried toward its’ sanctuary. When the others saw what was happening they resumed the chase following the blood trail like the only sense they had was that of smell. However the thing had had enough time to reach the cave and safety. The hunting party tried to force their way into the cave, but they were unable to and after waiting for several minutes realized the prey was long gone.

  I feigned a pained expression on my face and pretended to express my dismay for the lost meal. Apparently my act was not as convincing as I believed because they all saw through my ruse. My father came up to me, expecting a verbal lashing, I was left in shock when he bit me! It wasn’t just a small bite, he took a large chunk of my flesh in his mouth and bit down and shook his head tearing away the skin and muscle like I was a meal. The pain of the bite was nothing compared to the shock I felt. I had heard stories about our kind eating others of our kind and I envisioned my father devouring me, but his purpose was not to kill but to leave a more lasting effect. A sign of shame that showed I am so pathetic I’m not even worth eating. The bite would leave a massive scar, and in our community represents a sign of shame. In a way my father had disowned me.

  I stared up at my father, but his cold, dead eyes showed no emotion; neither anger, disgust, nor joy for what he had just done. He turned his back on me and led the others away. I could feel the looks of disgust from the others, though none of them dared look at me. That was the last time I went hunting with my father. If it wasn’t for my mother I believe he would have either killed me or sent me away, probably the first option if he had his choice. Instead I live in the home like an unwanted stranger; not welcome but not forced to leave. Just living my life as an outsider in a large community. Not alone or with anyone. I am worse than a shrimp; I am nothing.

  “We’re almost there.” Khan’s voice broke me from my daydream and brought me back into our surroundings. I had been so deep in thought that I had completely lost sense of my surrounding and what I was doing; another thing that would fill my father with disgust.

  I took a moment to look around and see where we were. I didn’t recognize the area and quickly realized it was because I had never been here before, and was forbidden to ever come here. It wasn’t just myself that’s forbidden, but the entire community is forbidden from this place. My father had never even dared venture here. This was the Fit Tún territory.

  The Fit Tún possess weapons, technology, and resources that have killed thousands of our kind and those alike. The Fit Túns are merciless savages. They attack and kill for pure enjoyment. They destroy the land, sea, and everything else they come into contact with. The Fit Tún cannot move or travel in or near our home, so we are safe from them as long as we stay in our territory. However the Fit Fun are finding more and more ways to get at us, and as our community continues to dwindle they expand at an alarming rate.

  “We can’t be here Khan.” I said, trying to control my shaking voice. “This is where the Fit Tún dwells.”

  “Shrimp, have you ever seen a Fit Tún?”

  Hesitantly, I answered, “No, but I’ve heard all about them.”

  “No, you’ve heard stories, and myths. All of them greatly exaggerated. We are near their land true, but we are not on it. As long as we stay in our world they are powerless against us. In our world they don’t have the speed, strength, or brains to stand against us; let alone kill us. Do you really want to know why I brought you here?”

  As scared as I was, my curiosity proved to be more powerful. My wandering eyes, looking for any sign of the dreaded Fit Tún, steadied and locked on Khan. Afraid my voice would reveal the true terror I felt I could only nod.

  “I brought you here because I like you Shrimp. Believe it or not you remind me of myself. You and I are a lot alike. We both stand out and want to be apart from the community. You don’t have to admit it, but I know the idea of the hunting parties disgust you and you’ve never felt any thrill in killing something. I feel the same way. Those hunts are child’s play, especially when you outnumber the prey 10 to 1.”

  I don’t know what surprised me more; the fact that Khan shared so many similar thoughts as me or hearing that many words come from his mouth.

  Khan continued, “There are two ways to find meaning in your life. To find a purpose and challenge that will make your whole body tremble with excitement that you’ve never dreamed of. The first way is to become like our distant relatives and hunt alone. The second way is to find a prey that is a challenge. Something that has the ability to kill you or out think you; that’s the Fit Tún.”

  “The Fit Tún are too dangerous. Many of the distant relatives that hunt alone which you mentioned have nearly gone extinct because of the Fit Tún.”

  “Ha! The weaker species of our kind, but the strong survive. The only way to know if you are one of the strong is to go up against the strong. We have occupied this planet far longer than the Fit Tún. Compared to us the Fit Tún are babies. We were here when the dinosaurs were supposedly the most dangerous creatures, yet they are all gone and we remain. We are perfect. The species of shark has never had to evolve, yet the Fit Tún seems to change every 100 years just to survive.”

  The shivers coursing through my body started to subside and I noticed I was grinding my razor sharp teeth together in anticipation of hunting the Fit Tún. Khan was right. As a species sharks are perfect, never having to change. I envisioned returning home to a heroes’ welcome. Not only have I been brought into the graces of the great Khan, but I will have faced our most feared enemy.

  “The Fit Tún fears us as much as we fear them. Just before I attack they let out this horrible scream. The sound is more annoying than a dancing dolphin, but what comes after is the greatest moment in the world. When you take that first bite, do not kill them right away. Instead let them go. Let their blood fill the water and you will smell the greatest thing in the world. Their blood has a smell unlike any other creature. It is alluring, hypnotizing even. Savor it, embrace it. Smell their blood and smell their fear. Watch as they thrash around in the water like a lost guppy. They are helpless. They can’t breathe underwater and they move slower than a fat tortoise. When you are ready move in for the kill, slowly bite down as your and you will feel their life leave their body and you will be so exhilarated it’s almost as if their energy has passed into you.”

  I didn’t need to hear anymore. I wanted this as bad as anything I’ve ever wanted. I was even starting to forget about making my father proud or impressing my mates at school. All I wanted was the thrill that Khan spoke of. I told Khan I was ready and he smiled at me; revealing his razor sharp teeth that I envisioned ripping apart hundreds of Fit Tún. As I was envisioning tearing into a Fit Tún I realized Khan was waiting for my answer. I nodded my head and tried to give him my toughest look. I think it just looked like I had a parrot fish stuck in my teeth.

  Khan turned away and led me to “The Forbidden Sand”. The Forbidden Sand is where the Fit Tún dwells. There are boats, fishing nets, and all types of trash and pollution hazarding the ocean floor. Closer to the shore, where the waves start to form and break, there is said to be hundreds of Fit Tún jumping, splashing, and playing in the water like a bunch of seals. Khan explained that the best wa
y to stalk the Fit Tún is to wait and find a Fit Tún dumb enough to drift away from its clansmen and be out far enough in the water to be susceptible for an attack.

  I followed Khan as he led me around several ropes and lines that were attached to some floating device on the surface. We swam beneath the massive shadows of the Fit Tún’s floating vessels. Several of them had large nets attached to the vessels and the two of them were forced to alter their rout. Khan navigated the Forbidden Sand like he was a part of the treacherous sea.

  Finally, they were clear of the Fit Tún traps and found themselves lurking just beyond the building waves. I felt all my senses come alive as I took in all the Fit Tún trying to act like they belonged in the ocean. I could feel their splashes and smell their blood coursing through their body. Most of the Fit Tún were sitting atop some wooden board and standing on them when the momentum of the wave launched them toward the land. The two of us watched in silence. I wanted to launch myself at them, but dared not move until Khan gave the ok. But then again, what was I waiting for? Khan had just finished explaining to me that we were meant to hunt alone and here I was being a follower.

  When I looked over at Khan I realized he was no longer right next to me. He was slowly flicking his tail back and forth, propelling himself a little closer to the oblivious Fit Tún. Khan had already chosen a prey and was stalking his target. I realized I was on my own now. As little as a few minutes ago I would have been terrified by this realization, but now it exhilarated me all the more. I turned my attention back to the Fit Tún and watched as they paddled on their boards and glided on top of the water like they were a pelican skimming the surface of the water. They were grouped to close together that I dared not attack yet. I worked my way a bit closer to the Fit Tún, but was sure to stay low enough in the water so my fin would not give myself away.