A Fitting End.
I can’t remember when it started, when forward motion slowed and eventually came to full stop. It was a shark’s death, a slow suffocation. Drifting aimlessly, coming to rest on the sand below, motionless. Nothing of the predator left. Nothing to fear. A carcass.
There was a turning point, a moment when the slide from the top of the food chain became inevitable. I never saw it coming, never thought it possible actually. Certain of my place, of my invincibility, I went about my business oblivious of what the future might hold.
Those whom I’d victimized, now vaulted up the food chain, scavenge my remains. Soon, not even a memory will remain.
Some would call it a fitting end.