I surfaced for air, expecting the usual—salt, krill, the occasional plastic bag—but instead, something peculiar landed in my mouth. A crunch, a wobble, a shriek. Not my usual fare. I paused.
It flailed. It screamed. It tasted… artificial. Synthetic like rubber and plastic, with a hint of panic. I spit it out in disgust.
Ugh. Never again. That’s the last time I blindly trust the ocean’s offerings.
My ancestors warned me about this. They spoke of a time when the waters used to be pristine, how these biped land creatures— “humans”, I believe they were called, once respected the boundaries of the seven seas. Now they insist on “adventure”, strapping themselves into fragile, yellow banana shaped husks, floating around my home like lost marshmallows in hot soup.
They’ll blame me, of course.
“Oh no, a whale attack!” as if I were the one who wandered into their kitchen and hopped onto the stove.
Clearly, I am the problem. Not the ones who slathered themselves in coconut-scented grease, wrapped in overpriced neoprene, and flung themselves into my mouth like an overenthusiastic appetizer.
No, let’s all point and villainize the giant marine mammal for following centuries of evolutionary programming, while the idiot in the kayak gets a free pass for surviving his own terrible choices.
Somewhere, I imagined the surface dwellers already forming a headline: “Terrifying Whale Encounter! Brave Tourist Lives to Tell the Tale.” Or perhaps “Miraculous Survival: Kayaker Escapes Humpback horror of Patagonia”
Never “Whale briefly samples idiot, regrets it immediately” or “Reckless Rubber-clad Biped Encroaches on Whale’s Breakfast Table.”
I watched as the yellow thing thrashed its way toward another yellow thing—smaller, yet equally unnecessary. The smaller one made noises, whether in concern for its friend or frustration that the encounter wasn’t cinematic enough for a viral clip, I wasn’t sure.
I sigh through my blowhole and dive back down.
Next time, I’m sticking to plankton.
submitted by /u/AshleshaMind
[link] [comments]