The hands are the first thing I feel. Pulling and prodding, nudging me, forcing me down. Before I’m even able to open my eyes, I can feel them, tugging me roughly to where they want me to be.
The acrid tinge of seaweed drifts into my nostrils as I regain my senses. I’m dragged by my feet, the sand scratching at my back, itching at my shoulder blades. Water laps at the left side of my body, my elbow intermittently submerged with the easy tidal sway, in and out. I try to move, to kick out, make them aware I’m still alive – surely that will stop them? – but the circuit between my mind and my muscles seems somehow severed.
Left in the shallows like driftwood, I struggle to open my eyes. Straining with the effort, I finally prise them apart, my eyelashes obscuring the slit of vision. I can tell it is dark, stars glittering in the clear night sky, a gentle breeze in the air.
I float until my body comes to rest against the sharp edges of an oyster bed. Unable to move, panic sets in as I fight for breath. Eventually, I am immersed.
It’s a beautiful night to die…
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