"Swim back to the shore!" She shouted at Matthew. "Fast!"

And fast Matthew swam. Behind him, he heard the struggling and shrieking of his mom. He dared not to look back. He swam to the shore and ran. But he was tripped over by his own sandcastle and landed on his hands, which were cut by the broken edges of seashells hidden in the sand. They were bleeding like the hands of a murderer. He heard the crying of his mom became fainter and fainter. He regained his balance and walked towards the tent. He woke up his father, who was still snoring. He seemed to be quite reluctant to wake up from his sweet dreams into the cruel reality.

When his father finally got out the tent, all was too late. There was no more struggling or shrieking. A little further from the shore, the blood rushed out from the dead body like an underwater firework, beautifully orchestrated by each bite of the shark. It seemed to follow its own tempo, like the steps of a master dancer. It swallowed bits of the flesh and limbs into its hideous mouth.

On the shore, Matthew’s father gave out a woeful cry. Hearing that, the shark stopped playing with the dead body and simply prowled around it, challenging its new prey to come forward. As if hypnotized, Matthew’s father slowly walked towards the sea and into the water.

Matthew closed his eyes.

Chop! The sound of the bones crashed by the jaws. Chop! The torn off of flesh bit by bit. Chop! The last wailing of the victim. Chop! The eternal darkness, the end of the living world.