Monstrous Metamorphosis

Written for Rhea Crossley's Underwater Creatures Competition.

 

Monstrous Metamorphosis

“The sun doesn’t shine down here”, was the thought in his mind. It had been a bright and beautiful summer day when he fell from the deck of his yacht into the deeps of the Pacific. Nobody saw the incident, fatigue had taken its toll and slowly breathing became difficult; surprisingly peacefully he descended to the depths, whence, looking upward he saw a self-extinguishing sun disappearing into the altitude.  

            For a while, he slept on the softness of his ocean bed dreaming of business deals, making money, ruthlessly bankrupting competitors and trampling on the underdogs. To him, these were sweet dreams. As ever, it was in his dreams that this awful man planned his next coup, takeover, raid on the market and other nefarious deeds. Charity had he none. It was a long, deep sleep.

            Eventually, drifting peacefully into consciousness he rose from the comfort of his water-bed and gently ascended. He felt fit, athletic even, and celebrated with swoops and somersaults. The exercise sharpened his appetite for both sustenance and the next shady deal which had come to him in an inspired moment during his rest period. Grabbing at a passing fish, he devoured it raw. Always had liked Japanese food. Passing fronds of seaweed went well with the fish. He needed something more substantial. 

            “I’m hungry; I’m vicious; I’m ready for a deal”, he said. “I smell blood!”

The sun was low – away on a horizon that seemed to him to be high. It was blood red, but was it east or west, morning or night? He didn’t know, always leaving navigation to his crew. He didn’t care! He could deal with the whole world, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, from the yacht. His dirty deals, via satellite communication had more range than nuclear missiles.

            It was brighter now and the savoury odour of blood reached his sensors. He grabbed at passing food emanating from a shadow overhead, turning and twisting the easier to reach the tempting morsels; propelling himself, open-mouthed and upside-down into daylight to snatch at food.

            It was then that his body exploded. His poor sight just made out a flash as agony struck deep within him. His body convulsed and as it threshed he just caught the words, dimly crossing what the shot had left of his brain, “Hell! It’s a great whi - - - - - “ Blackness now.   Deeper black than any ocean.

THE END

Reviews

[Lily1111]

You have a wonderful way of opening the door and "immersing" readers into your story. The descriptive quality really brings the reader into the moment. The shark metaphor was priceless.

[Margaret Barton-Wahl]

Interestingly disturbing. In an almost a sound bite of a story you have shoved man yclear albeit gruesome images. Not quite my cup-o-tea but it is strong and dark like a cup of coffee. I like it. Margaret Barton-Wahl

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Its the great white man! Things an american native might have said. lol very good John. Sorry, just finished watching, Return Of A Man Called Horse.

[Kena Dawn Augustine]

at first i didn't get it, but now I do, ha! nice metaphor, wonderful job.

the description in the beginning is inviting, and i could see the whole setting very well from your words.

kena

[Samuel Dickens]

I love the shark as ruthless buisness man metaphor. Extremely well-written and entertaining, John.