A large **** slashed open its side. A collision with a boat we all think. Though no boat has claimed its ****. The wind whipped its scent through the crowd a saltier tang than usual. More concentrated; more direct. Its chest heaved with the rhythm of the waves as water poured into its lax mouth expanding its chest in a mockery of breath before deflating again like a balloon spent. Bites from opportunistic feeders marred the solid gray-blue-white skin with a pinkish hue and gaping holes. Its blood lingered in the dark green waves a sandy-pink as it flowed with the current. And people still swam in its wake! Unperturbed by the dead still bleeding or the funeral procession watching on in a half-circle of grief and awe and humor too as the largest of lives we don't normally see lay dead on the beach.