THE BEACH Narrative - By Nevaeh

 I was at the beach with my older brother Pickle, and we were going surfing. I had my yellow board and Pickle had a green one. As we were running towards the surf, we heard our mum yell back at us in warning saying “be careful”. Running with my board in my hand, I see Pickle jumping over all the waves coming in. We hop on our boards and start to paddle towards the big waves. Once we reach our point it is calm and still. The water a deep black/blue colour. I look at Pickle, he looks back, we smile. I see a big wave approaching and stand up. As i stand up I scrape my shoulder against the side of the board and see a bit of blood run down the back of my arm, ‘It’s fine’, I say to myself. Pickle looks at me again. Not worrying about it, I stand up right before the wave, and surf. The breeze running through my hair and the salty taste in my mouth, is exactly what I love. I come back in after that wave, blood still running down my arm. As we paddle out again, we see something moving in the water. Not worrying about it once again, we keep paddling. We reach the surfing point again, small waves producing in the meen time. 

Pickle is looking at me worried as…. A shark comes and bites my arm off. Pickle starts yelling for mum and dad while I lay there unconscious. Pickle carries me in and takes his rash top off to tie around my now gone arm. Blood oozing down my body and tears streaming out of my eyes. 

I don’t remember much about what happened after that but I remember waking up in the hospital bed. A pain like fire was racing through my body. I went to go grab my arm. It was gone. The doctor walks in, with a piece of paper in his hand. He is talking to my mum and looking satisfied with himself. He told my mum I was going to live!

After a few weeks of no arm, we have a meeting with the doctors. They had found the shark that bit my arm off. As well as biting off my arm, it also got a chunk of my board stitch in its sharp yellow jaws. The shark was on the beach, laying there lifeless. I looked at it, a lump forming in my throat. My dad brings my board up because I can no longer carry it. He places it in the mouth of the shark, as if he was putting the last piece of his puzzle in the spot. It was a match. I began crying, tears pouring onto my face. My mum grabbed me and hugged me.