There's Something in the Water

There's something in the water, I can see the gentle ripples in the smooth black mirror of the lake. They're rhythmic, controlled, moving but kept in place. Something moves them, carefully and quietly, orderly and with intent. I can never grasp the full intensity of the situation, I am disabled in my ability to understand. The dark gray sky creeps down closer and closer, enveloping the land in its embrace. I can hardly see the ripples now, I still can't understand. I hear a sploosh and a splash and a long groan emanate from the murky depths, but I can not see from whence they came. I don't want to see, the mere thought of what awaits me beneath the waves shakes me to my core, but I know I must. Far too long I had pretended to be a fisherman when in actuality I am but a humble scavenger at the lakebed's shore. I have to see what awaits beneath the rippling waves. I have to prove myself, if only to myself. I tread, trembling and with net in hand, deeper and deeper into the murky black. I can see waves tap lightly upon my knees; steady, controlled. I can see a shape lapping about me, twirling and swirling- the chaotic hand to which the waves are ordered. My heart pounds against my chest, sweat pours from my forehead and down my palms, the rushing of blood through the highway of veins throughout my body sends me into a paranoid yet euphoric rush and everything flows together and I can see the beast and I can finally gloat and comprehend, understand and-

And then there was nothing but murky black.