CT     SH*T... F*CK!
CT     WHERE ARE YOU, GOD D*MN IT!
​

As expected, only the roaring waves respond. You take a breath and plunge underwater once more, squinting your trained eyes in the deep, salty seawater. You're grasping around for anything, any sign that you're close. Your heart pounds with everything you feel. A broken shell. Seaweed. Something soft.
​
You turn to it and see it motionless, drifting. Tensing all your muscles, you hold onto the torso with both arms and launch upwards. You grab the nearby life preserver and drape the body over it, keeping the head above water as you push it to shore.
​
Once the water reaches your midriff, you start sprinting. You clear a path through the spectators (always so god damn curious) and rest the body on the sand. Then, the real work begins.
​
As you go through the motions - checking the pulse, pushing air into the system, expelling water out - you take diligent note of the person in front of you. Male. Skinny. Can't be older than fourteen. He's not a regular - must've visited for the summer rush. Too many victims of the waves are tourists who gamble on their notoriety... and for what? Social acclaim? The thrill of it? It makes you want to destroy the entire lifeguard stand and build a giant sign with the planks, one that tells them to use their fucking brain. It makes you perform compressions strong enough to break ribcages, as if to tell their stupid heart to remember to breathe. It makes you so, so angry, that you're tempted to quit this ridiculous job entirely.
​
A cough. Sputtering. You tilt the head to the side, easing the evacuation of fluids. You feel their pulse thrum to life beneath your hands, a downright muted rhythm compared to the thundering pace of your own blood. Your voice comes out low and gravelly, almost a growl.

​

CT     RELAX. BREATHE.
CT     GET ALL OF IT OUT OF YOUR SYSTEM.
 

As your own clarity returns, the body before you begins its restoration back into a person - coughing and shuddering, but breathing. Honest to god breathing. 

You tear your focus from him to look at your surroundings. You've amassed a small crowd. An older woman - his mother, maybe? She's nearly in tears as she watches only a few feet away. When the boy musters enough strength to and sit up, she rushes over to your side. You hold up a hand to prevent her from coming too close and return your gaze to him.. After all, you have some things to say, first.
​

CT     YOU'RE OKAY.
CT     YOU WENT OUT TOO FAR, AND THE WAVES DECIDED TO CUT OFF YOUR FUN.
CT     DOES ANYTHING HURT?
​

He's stuttering, struggling to string words together. Near-death experiences will do that.

​

CT     GOOD.
CT     BESIDES A FEW SCRATCHES, A BIT OF NAUSEA...

CT     ALL YOUR VITALS ARE IN GOOD CONDITION.
CT     SO, JUST REST. YOUR BODY WILL RETURN TO NORMAL SOON.
CT     DID YOU HAVE ANYTHING WITH YOU?
​

You think about people who sneak back into the areas beneath rollercoasters to try and retrieve lost belongings. Wallets, phones. Anything that could fall out. You think about what can happen as the coaster tears through the air near ground level, when their head comes in contact with a rider's foot .
​

CT     GUESS WHAT?
CT     IT BELONGS TO THE OCEAN NOW.
CT     DON'T COMPLAIN.

CT     IT'S A *PALTRY* F*CKING SACRIFICE FOR THE CHANCE TO KEEP BREATHING.
CT     NEXT TIME, DON'T BE A GOD D*MN IDIOT.
CT     GOT IT?

The boy tries to get up, but you place a hand on their shoulder and lean in. You make sure they get a good view of your face. 
​

CT     I SAID. GOT IT?

...
​
You grunt and push the boy towards the older woman. He collapses in her arms with a tight embrace, as if making up for how far, too far away he was only ten minutes ago. You stand up, pick up the life preserver, and make your way back to your station. You're faintly aware of the beachgoers around you, either gaping or ogling at you. It makes you grit your teeth, worsening your scowl, a permanent fixture on your face when it comes to this job. Whoever is brave enough to make eye contact with you is rewarded with a harsh glare.

 

When you sit back on your seat, you look out once more. The sizzling sun makes the waves shimmer like diamonds, only interrupted with a floating passerby or an enthusiastic splash. Underneath, far away from the distant shore, a body could easily blend in with the rest of the detritus. You spit into the sand next to you. You can still taste the brine in your mouth.
​
Less than thirty minutes later, your station is left behind again.