How Andre Lost His Hand, a short story by Sam the Shark (pictured). It was 18 April when I first and last met Andre. He rode about in a skiff off of the coast of South Africa with nary a care in the world. Once in a while he would cast nets but mostly he spent the days laying on the deck of his tiny boat, basking in the sun, sometimes peering over the sidewalls and into the depths below.
On 18 April I came upon him, swishing about his lanky arm in the waters. He did not flinch or pull back when I came gliding into view. He simply smiled and as I pulled closer, my snout touched his soft, vulnerable hand, and I became enamored of the touch. He caressed me further and at this point, my head was above the surface, jaw agape, enjoying the feel of his soft, supple, probably delicious human skin.
Then Andre went home and had a terrible accident with a meat slicer.
It is very hard to type with only fins but poor Andre.
(Photo of ‘Shark Whisperer’ Andre Hartman tickling the snout of a Great White Shark, to induce it to lift its snout out of the water and open its mouth, near Dyer Island, off Gansbaai, South Africa, by Doug Perrine / Barcroft Media via the Telegraph)