Great Waste

I never really knew my father. My first memories of my siblings are fraught with conflict. And mom? She was so busy with her own life, we were left to fend for ourselves at a pretty young age. Perhaps that’s why swimming in the ocean alone feels like home to me. I find solidarity in the solitude of the deep, blue waves. With years of practice, I’ve learned to listen to the waters around me, noticing the subtle shifts of currents carrying relief in the form of warm patches. My warm blood can only do so much as the water conducts heat from my body at a rate 25 times faster than in air. I take a breath and dive deeper.

I’ve always been a risk taker. A calculated risk taker. Today, my personal challenge was to descend further than I’ve ever gone before. Fueled by the fresh oxygen circulating to my lungs, I steadily kick my fins, letting my body sway with each push. Suddenly, a flash of silver catches my eye. A tinge of adrenaline jolts my bloodstream in the split second it takes to realize what I’m looking at—it’s just a small fish. But there’s something wrong with it. My curiosity gets the best of me and I abandon my dive plan to investigate.

Swimming abnormally, the fish isn’t making much forward progress, so it’s not long before I’m upon it. As I inch towards its flashing scales, I feel something brush against my neck. A jellyfish tentacle? I push forward quickly to avoid a sting. But it was too late. An unfamiliar tension envelops me, bringing my forward momentum to a standstill. It was as if time stood still. In a moment of panic, I thrash in an attempt to feel something, anything. What I felt was thick monofilament lines tighten around my body. I am trapped in a ghost net drifting at sea.

Unable to move backwards, I panic and beat my tail again. And again. And again. The net tightens, pitching me to my side before eventually pinning me upside down. A fog consumes my mind as I slip into near unconsciousness. My gills start to pump slower and slower. Tonic immobility renders me motionless. I am paralyzed. I am dying. In an instant, I am dethroned from Great White to Great Waste.

Was it hubris or fate that brought me to this final moment? Despite spending my life avoiding contact with humans, I find myself wrapped up in their waste. Was I overly confident being this far from the shore? Would I have seen the net had I not been so focused on the shimmering scales of the struggling fish? The fish. I can still see it out of the corner of my eye. The irony is killing me - the prey captures the predator. I never even made it to my first big migration.

Will my body sink to the depths of the abyss, wrapped in my cocoon of doom? Or will I hang here eternally, my hamartia on display for all to see? My thoughts grow darker as my vision fades. Part of me hopes another shark will come and eat me, so I’m not a complete waste. Another part realizes I’m the fresh bait that will lure others to their certain demise. I hope a human finds me instead, so they can see what they’ve done.

Life isn’t fair. I learned that in the womb as I ate my siblings. It’s always been survival of the fittest. Nowadays, it seems more like survival of the luckiest. If only I could have a little more time. If only I could tell my story. My eyes go black and I see the ocean as it once was, abundant and thriving. I take my final breath. Another flame extinguished on the road to extinction.