Reaching the beach, I hurry into my tent and zip it up immediately before sticking to an edge, drawing my knees to my chest, then wrapping my arms around it.

The tent won’t stop the predator; he’ll come right in if he wants.

Maybe it’s a mistake coming here. But I had no choice since there was no where else to run to. This was the first place my instinct led me, and I’m too scared to go out and correct my mistake.

I watch silhouettes moving to and fro in front of my tent. Of course, ...