From his vantage point he scans the energetic horde, a blur of animated limbs. He is indifferent to the shrieking of the brassy smart-ass posse. He ruthlessly ignores the shy glances of a certain pupil. His buzz begins with the methodical task of seeking out the least confident and physically weakest teenagers.
They’re the targets he monitors closely. He imagines flesh, cold and rigid, cradled within his muscular arms. Lips numb and blue, bruised by his force. Chests examined under his palms. Restrained.
As the lifeguard, he’s never had to use his resuscitation techniques at the swimming pool. Yet.
(I originally posted this drabble on Drablr in July 2015).
Head Over Writing 