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  • Stephanie Fuller

A turtle disaster

Out of the blue, our guide took a deep breath and dunked beneath the waves. A few bubbles and a bit of sea foam replaced him, but other than that, you’d never know he’d ever been there. I half dipped my face in the water so that it felt like I’d got stuck between a pane of glass and stared at the guide as he glided further and further down to the seabed. He stuck two fingers up like a gun and then stroked the sand until it began to float upwards into the water. Within seconds a fleet of sharks arrived to feed off the disrupted sand. Our guide gave us a smile, which had gone skewwhiff because of the water pressure and he looked like he was made out of plastic. With his body floating at a sideways angle and his feet being beamed up by the sunshine above the water he took his left hand and swept up a sea cucumber. Holding it like a gold medal at the Olympics, he turbo charged to the top of the water, arriving with enormous force at the surface. It was undoubtedly a great shame that he didn’t make it. The intersection between the water and the air above it had solidified into a thick plastic film making it impossible to resurface. The sea cucumber was alright, she felt perfectly at home all wrapped up in water but the guide did look a little distressed. His face was no longer wide, but rather long and his smile had turned down into a sort of trout pout. I think he was panicking. He didn’t have a snorkel, only the oxygen he left the surface with. He had two choices, become a fish or die.


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