@johnlaurensmom

This was why John chose to study Marine Biology. The royal blue waves that softly licked at the side of the boat as the wind ushered them gently towards the shore. The rippled staircase to the sun, reflecting in the glass water. The beauty, the danger of the ocean.

John loved the ocean, truly fascinated by every inch of it's expanse, from the colourful coral reefs to the dark unexplored depths. He wanted to just dive in, slip beneath the surface and submerge into a whole new world, never looking back. Any underwater kingdom would be far better than the bland life he led today.

John leaned over the side of the boat, slowly tilting towards the water and watching his warped reflection dance beneath him. It would be so easy, to just-

"Mr Laurens!" His lecturer snapped, ripping him away from the edge by his collar. John yelped and stumbled backwards, rubbing his neck with a frown. "We're taking fish out of the water not putting college students in." He warned, shooting him a stern glare.

"Yes Mr Adams," John frowned, averting his gaze to the deck and shuffling his feet nervously. He heard a few snickers from his classmates and cringed, a small blush crawling onto his cheeks.
"Now, nets at the ready, if you catch anything that is not an Atlantic Herring, it goes back in the ocean," Mr Adams explained, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves.

The students all arranged their nets and on Mr Adams' count, threw them into the water. John on the other hand found his arms tangled in the rope and more or less, shoved, his net into the water.
"Watch your net toss Mr Laurens, you won't catch anything if it's tangled," Mr Adams sighed, cocking a brow at John.

John mumbled a weak 'sorry', slipping on his own gloves. Mr Adams simply shook his head and moved on to the other students, leaving John to stand by his net aimlessly.

"Stupid net, stupid fish," John mumbled bitterly as he wound up the top of his net ready to pull it back up when he felt the tugs start coming. He didn't want to dissect fish, he came here to learn about them not slice open their guts.

John pulled up a chair and flopped into it, holding his net and glaring out onto the water.
He waited.
And waited.
And guess what else he did?
Waited.

John began to fidget, he needed something to do, nothing was happening. He glanced at his bag for some hope and spied his sketchbook hanging precariously out the front pocket. Perfect.

John reached over and grabbed his sketchbook, fishing a pen out of his side pocket and pulling both onto his lap. He tried to open the book while still holding the net, but it was proving to be a hard feat.
He couldn't let go, but he really wanted to draw. John groaned and stomped his foot in annoyance. Hey, that sparked an idea.

John grinned and placed his sketchbook and pen on the deck beside him, avoiding puddles, taking the rope and tying it around his ankle. Now he was technically holding it, and he'd still feel the tug when it came, and his hands were free! He was a genius!

"Well done Mr Laurens, you truly are a master mind," John smirked triumphantly to himself and picked his sketchbook and pen back up again, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, feeling the sun's rays fall over his skin like a warm blanket. He glanced at his peers who were all starting to pull fish up onto the deck, oh well. John didn't want to catch anything anyway, he didn't want to slice open the innocent little fishies. How would humans feel if fish dragged them into the ocean and stabbed them with a scalpel? Exactly.

John began to draw a school of fish winding between two sea turtles, imagining them dancing beneath the boat right now. He longed for their freedom, pouring that into his artwork. Possibly half an hour passed and he was just beginning to shade in one of the turtle's shells when he was jerked forwards by his leg, his pencil skidding across the page and the rope burning his skin.

John yelped and gripped his chair, dropping his sketchbook.
"What the fuck?" He muttered, reaching down to slowly unwind the net from his ankle. Everything fell silent until he was yanked forward again, landing on the deck with a solid thud. John groaned and held the hip he had landed up, but didn't have much time to pity himself, because with another tug we was being dragged towards the edge of the boat.

"Shitshitshit!" He yelled, clawing at the net as the wall at the edge of the boat came closer and closer. There was no helping him, he slammed into the wall, finally getting the net off his ankle and clutched tight in his hands. He was ripped forward, almost screaming as his torso was thrown over the edge of the boat, the impact winding him and leaving him gasping for air.

He sucked in a sharp breath and groaned, the net still being tugged away as whatever he had caught tried desperately to swim away. A dolphin? Shark? What the fuck was it, certainly not one of Mr Adams' stupid Atlantic Herrings.

He got another yank and almost slipped overboard.
"Oh no you don't!" He hissed, hooking the net over his crane and tying it off, his arms throbbing. Once it was solid he got to work winding the net up, gasping and panting as he wound as hard as he could.

He heard thrashing splashes down in the water and... a yelp?
With a THUD his net swung back and slammed into the side of the boat, finally falling still. Was it dead? Did it get away? With panic ridden eyes John wound the net up as fast as possible before leaning over the edge to see what the hell had almost dislocated his arms.

His breath hitched in his throat, his stomach dropping to his toes, disbelief-sparked adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"No way,"