Anne:
Do you remember the night the shark attacked us? Of course you do, but wasn't that a great time?

Here, this is the photograph from the beach in Barbados. Just before the attack. Doesn't Alana look cute in her swimsuit? There used to be a sand castle next to her, just there, but it got trampled when I was chasing Mary around.

Brandon's at the side of the frame, looking breathless - he set the delay and then ran back to be in the shot. Don't he and Alana look adorable next to each other...? I know, she's engaged to someone else. I just said they look good together.

Mary's on my lap, and both of us are laughing. Remember, Brandon asked us whether we could keep our hands off each other for fifteen seconds, so we could take a beach photo that wasn't totally pornographic? We behaved ourselves for a whole minute, with Mary holding my hands still. She's always had more self-control than me.

That's why I suggested that we all go for a swim while the sun set. I figured that no one would be offended if Mary and I fooled around underwater, out of sight. Good thing, too, because if I hadn't ducked beneath the surface to give her - more attention - I never would have seen the shark.

I don't know what that kind of shark is called, but I sure as hell recognized it. Big grey !@#$ard, with a face full of teeth and little piggy eyes. They're persistent; I'd known them to follow ships for days waiting for something living to fall overboard. Not that Mary and I are living, but the way we were splashing around, it was an easy mistake to make. Particularly if you've got a brain the size of a walnut.

It was rushing at me out of the deep, at an angle, planning to seize either Mary or me and drag us down with it. They're just bright enough to realize that most things that come from the surface can be drowned. They have no problems ripping apart their prey alive, but it's always easier if they've stopped struggling. I have no need for air, but a set of shark-bites on my lovely legs would be quite upsetting.

I dove so quick that the water cracked like a whip behind me, grabbing the shark by its tail. It was short work then to muscle it onto the beach, where a few smacks against a shelf of rock stopped its snapping. Mary and I gathered around the dazed beast, sharing the salty blood from its shoulder. We usually feed from our household servants, but we couldn't resist sampling the life of this admirable predator.

Then we made a fire on the beach, and roasted steaks of shark meat on shingles of driftwood. I don't eat these days, but the smell was heavenly. I remember the taste well - flaky and white, not at all fishy. Everyone should try shark before they die.

What a day. Predator becomes prey, as so often happens. The victor feasts, and the victim does well to be remembered as good sport.