https://everythingspeakstome.com/files/original/d1d376341b8465251bfd2789d2830062.JPG da147af4302066fbd9230ecde573a088 Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Please post your written submission in this field. The images you would like to include should be posted as attachments below. The lifeguard boasted with a smug, I-told-you-so smirk on his face, “That's what you get for not listening to the lifeguard.” As he examined the aching blisters that wrapped around my leg, I reflected on the chaos that had unfolded just minutes before. I felt a strange sense of comfort in realizing someone I did not know personally would take the time to care for me, despite my obvious disregard of his warnings. I adore the beach and have considered it to be my favorite place for as long as I can remember. On any given hot summer day, we will pack my mom's Honda Pilot with my entire, boisterous, family. My dad, the driver, and my mom, the passenger princess, would be chatting in the front row, or switching the radio to accommodate the music requests made along the thirty-minute drive from our house to the beach. My two older brothers, in the middle row that sits three, would be making a raucous, singing and dancing along to the music requests they gave my mom and dad. In the final row, my little cousin and I sit, peacefully pointing out random scenery and talking about our favorite places to go during the summer. These car rides are nothing out of the ordinary—it was the preparation for a long day playing under the sun in the sand and water. One particular beach day stands out more than the rest of them. The day was perfect for unwinding at the beach: blue, sparkling water; clear sky; the summer sun kissing our skin, what more can you ask for? My brother Noel and I, the more adventurous individuals in the group, never forget to take our goggles to the beach to complete our traditional swim to the buoy that divides the public beach from the open ocean. Typically, these swims are more calming than chaotic. Along the nearly 100-yard swim, we usually find sea shells that have been beautifully crafted by the ocean, or we might run into small fish that will accompany us on our way to the deep. We strapped on our goggles and started swimming through the crisp, refreshing water, making our way to the buoy. Swimming in the ocean is such a liberating experience because, beneath the surface, a whole other world unfolds. On our swim, we saw smaller fish in the shallow end of the beach. As we approached deeper waters, we began seeing larger fish, about a foot long. As we swam further from shore, towards the buoy, we heard a faint, consistent, and quite annoying, noise from shore. Me and my brother turned around to see what it was; it was the lifeguard whistling at us, likely because we were ‘too far’ from shore. Noel and I turned our heads to face each other; chuckled a dry, cocky laugh; shrugged; and kept on swimming.   We reached the buoy, and there was a clear shift in scenery on the ocean floor beneath it. Noel and I could see small, colorful reefs flourishing with life. Naturally, we began exploring. As experienced swimmers, we dared to dive down about thirteen feet, despite the discomfort the pressure brought upon our ears. The reef had a multitude of little fish that were impossible to see from the surface of the water. There was also a surprising number of sand dollars, a population that had just bounced back in this area, that were feeding on the particles in the sand surrounding the reef. We had been there for fifteen minutes or so, repeating the same series of actions: diving down, coming up for air, and exclaiming about what we had just seen. We still heard the lifeguard urgently whistling from the shoreline, but we ignored his clamor once again.   Noel had become a bit jaded after swimming and treading water for such a long period of time, since he did not have anything to stand or lean on. I took a deep breath, and went down to complete my final dive. My brother stayed treading on the surface of the water, waiting for me to come back up. After I had gotten to the ocean floor, I pushed off to gain some speed when—all of a sudden—a sharp, excruciating pain struck my left thigh. Air bubbles escaped my mouth as I screamed underwater in agony. Instinctually, I swam in the opposite direction of where I felt the stinging pain. I jolted up in attempt to get to the surface as fast as possible to catch my breath. I was five feet from the surface, when another throbbing sensation disrupted my nervous system. This one seemed to anger me way more than the other strike. It was none other than my own brother who had just kicked me right in the mouth. I floated up and finally reached the surface of the water where, before I caught my much-needed breath, I yelled aggressively at my brother for not looking where he was kicking. During my tantrum, he saw my mouth full of blood and the tears building up in my eyes and he began to apologize excessively to calm me down. This series of events happened within a short minute, and thankfully, I did not drown because of them. I briefly explained to my brother that we had to leave right away so he wouldn’t get stung, too.   The swim back to shore was not nearly as relaxing or enjoyable as it was on the way over to the buoy. I tried to kick, but I felt my leg numbing from the venom that had been infused into it. It was at that moment I was able to recognize what happened to me... I had been stung by a jellyfish. Noel and I had reached the shallow end of the beach, where I could finally, with intense pain, stand. I inspected the sting, and found there were inflamed tentacle marks all the way from my thigh to my calf, wrapping around it like a circlet. I limped to the dry sand, where I collapsed on the floor from exhaustion. I took a deep breath and tried to enjoy the sun that was gently toasting my skin, as if it were whispering to me, “it's okay, you're safe now.”  My mom walked over, curious to know why I laid immobile on the ground, until she noticed the welts on my leg, “Angelina! What happened to you? And—oh my—what happened to your mouth? Go to the lifeguard, they will help you,” she declared. I thought to myself, “the lifeguard? After I had ignored his calls to go back to shore numerous times? After he likely saw the whole fiasco of me coming back to shore from his stand? No way!” The throbbing pain in my leg seemed to say otherwise, so I waddled over to the lifeguard stand, where I was greeted by the lifeguard with an unamused and disappointed face.   After telling the lifeguard what had happened, he told me that my sting was no regular jellyfish sting, but that it was the sting of a Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish. He said it was the largest and most inflamed sting he had ever seen in his tenure of being a lifeguard in Miami Beach. “You should have listened to my whistle,” he explained, as he poured vinegar all over my leg, “I was only trying to help.” Although it burst my ego to be wrong about something, this encounter taught me an important lesson: people are there to help you, and sometimes, even people you don’t know will tell you things for your own good. The lifeguard, whom I did not know personally, treated me like a friend. I had never experienced this before, especially living in such a large city where everyone seems to mind their own business. Interacting with the lifeguard, and seeing his point of view led me to think about other aspects of my life. What other times in my life has someone been calling out to me, trying to help me, and I have completely ignored their warnings?  I left the lifeguard stand with three things that day: a newfound respect for the suggestions people give me, a bottle of vinegar, and a story to tell. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sting Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Angelina Fuentes Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 10/03/2022