rock pool

I am in the water, far out at sea. The ocean is dark, brooding. I swim under the water for a long time and I breathe easily. The night is cool and clear as I swim up to the surface. Although I am still hundreds of miles from the shore, I find an intricate series of rock pools. I stand on a rock in the black glassy water and gaze down into one of the pools. Something moves. Someone is next to me and she says it is a great white. I wonder how a shark that big can fit in the small rock pool, but realise that the pools are all linked under the water by connecting tunnels. The shark may be swimming from one rock pool to another, through the maze, finding its way back into the open sea. We have to go back under the water, but before we go, we arm ourselves with a heavy rocks, one in each hand, selected from the shallows of the rock pools. We will throw the rocks at the shark if it attacks us. I wonder how the rock will have any impact, how I will throw it with any force, under the water. We dive back into the pool and swim down through inky chambers, through weed and cold currents of water, into a cavern under the sea. Although the cavern is submerged deep under the ocean, the floor is a carpet of rock pools and the rest of the cave is filled with air, not water. We emerge from under the water but stay standing in the rock pool. There are two women sitting on a rock at the rear of the cave. They seem preoccupied. We ask them if they have seen the shark but they do not hear us or acknowledge us.