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By OfficialApprover, Orefield, PA

My lips press against his, my hands against his chest. Breathe. Breathe.

Air hisses down my throat, into his. My hands pump his ribcage, one pump, two pump, stop, breathe, start again.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Come on. Please. Please.”

Breathe. Pump. Breathe.

His eyelid flickers. I hold my breath, tail flopping uselessly against the sand.

The movement stops. He is still again.

Breathe. Pump. Breathe.

“You’re a sailor,” I say, voice harsh, demanding, desperate. “You’re a seaman. You can’t go out like this, John. I won’t let you go out like this.

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