I swear I could see murky liquid flow from my hair, as though I were watching hobo-bro’s saliva wash out of my strands in real time. It did nothing to help reassure me—in fact, I’m pretty sure it did nothing but terrify me all the more, because ew and also because I wanted all traces of this guy out of my life, off of my person, away from me in any way possible. His image in my brain was beginning to get warped and grotesque, or at least more grotesque than he was in person; he was turning into a monster of a personal kind, my own real-life boogieman, if you wanted to put it that way, and my paranoid disgust was slowly starting to mold itself into an actual fear. I don’t know why and I’m not going to ask myself about it, so you don’t try either. It’s all very complicated and probably Freudian and I’m pretty sure none of us are certified to deal with that kind of blanket-clutching shit.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the gross dude and me kind of crab-stepping my way through the waves, holding my head down and giving me a neck cramp and also making me kinda-sorta dizzy because I was going around in circles trying to wash the pure, uncut shit out of my head. I’m not quite sure how long I was doing it, because time didn’t really factor in my feeling of uncleanliness; I probably could’ve kept on doing it forever if they let me. But they didn’t let me; that’s the point. “Stupid, stupid fatty-ass rat,” I continued to mutter, fretting over my possibly ruined health and the violation of my personal bubble-space, “Dumb-dumb, stupid, no-good, stank-ass—NO. NO YOU’RE NOT.” This last phrase was obviously shouted because said Dumb-dumb was currently on my ass and I was not having it. Obviously.

I lifted my head too fast and my vision swam for a moment, but it didn’t stop me from blearily trying to book it away from him. The water slowed me down and my head was buzzing with dizzy and head-rush high and I guess I wasn’t running that straight, but I still meant business, as indicated by the crow-hops and bucking I added into every third stride or so. “Go, get!!” I called behind me at the precariously trotting shit stain still on my tail. I kicked at him, it was true, but I was also hoping my hooves wouldn’t actually touch him. Because eww. And my bang kept slapping me on my chest every time I leapt through the air, hitting me with a fresh slap of salt water and whatever lingering disease was still in my hair. I’m tell you now—it’d probably be weeks before I would trust my hair again.

By the way Ros, the water gets deeper the further you go into the sea. Which, I guess, I knew already, but Boogy behind me was making me forget a lot of things in the spur of the moment horror that was flowing through my veins. Or something. The point is, the water was passed knee-deep before I got it in my head to probably not be so far in the sea since it impedes movement. I also didn’t want to be in the water with….guy-thing. Who knows what funk particles we might share in the water. Ugh. Urrugh.

So mid-buck I zap!ed my ass again, but this time I guess I fucked up. My hooves landed on sand instead of more water and something about my footing completely screwed with whatever timing I had, and I wasn’t prepared for my after-shock travel thing. The point is, I stumbled quick spectacularly, and I stumbled into something, and it would take me some moments to discover the thing into which I had stumbled was big and white and probably scared as shit by what was happening right now.





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