mxleader on 25/2/2010 at 06:17

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How is a killer whale killing news? If you take a freaking huge swimming teeth filled mammal (that's labeled "killer whale") and put it in a fish tank, then convince someone to stand near the edge (looking like a tasty penguin) it shouldn't come as a surprise that at some point the (killer) whale might want a snack. I think a dolphin in a tank might have been a little safer....

(http://www.thenewstribune.com/2010/02/24/1084612/orlando-seaworld-worker-killed.html)

Vivian on 25/2/2010 at 10:23

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If you literally turn a multi-ton predator into a clown, what the hell do you expect? I hate those seaworld places. I heard a story about some dumb bastards trying to keep a great white shark in one - the thing kept trying to migrate through the tank wall (great whites are large-scale nomads with some kind of magnetic guidance system, so it knew - well, as much as they know anything - that it was supposed to be going 'that way' for a few thousand miles) and eventually starved to death. So people could get a good look at it. Newsflash! If you love nature A) stay the fuck out of it as much as possible and B) don't put it in a giant bowl in florida.

Aerothorn on 25/2/2010 at 14:45

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The killer whale is called so because Spanish sailors supposedly observed it hunting other whales, NOT because it's in the habit of killing people (so the name has nothing to do with this story). Incidentally, I always find it weird when people call them "killer whales" since everyone where I'm from just says orca. To be blunt: there is no record of a wild orca killing a human. Somtimes there are encounters - In the 70s an orca ate a surfer (as his board made him look like a fish) only to spit him out unharmed upon realizing that he wasn't one. But no deaths. Humans are not orca prey.

Obviously, captive orcas can be different, though it's entirely possible that this particular orca is not representative of the species (most captive orcas do not attempt to kill trainers).

And yeah, orcas are often housed with dolphins. In the wild orca eat dolphins, but only as a matter of necessity; if they are fully fed they will not attempt to do so in captivity and will generally get along with them (and sometimes try to mate with them!). They are of the same family.

Aerothorn on 25/2/2010 at 16:09

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WITH YOUR POWERS COMBINED

Sulphur on 25/2/2010 at 18:35

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2:50 A.M.

I can not sleep. My eyes are heavy-lidded, yet with each flicker of movement I jerk awake. The candle flame gutters in the breeze from the window, and the shadows flick in unison, twisting and twirling in some dark and malefic dance before me.

I cradle the harpoon, its weighty bulk a reassuring presence in my hands. Cold silver spear-tip angled at the door. Waiting.

I remember that day... I remember it too well. The splash as the hunting spear sliced through the waves, the bubbling wash rising, spreading to a circle of crimson as the waters misted below, and the writhing stopped, and the body floated upwards...

We hadn't known he was there. The first sign of him was a flash of something black and massive barrelling straight into Chester. All that was left of him was an arm that drifted out of the murk, ragged tendrils of meat on one end trailing blood like so much red ink.

He killed the whole crew. I was the only one left alive... but not before he destroyed the boat and took my leg as payment.

I thought that had been enough. Enough that the dreams haunted me at night, his demonic eyes in my face, his razored flippers slicing away at me, his rows of teeth at my neck... but always, when I woke up, he was gone.

But tonight, I heard it. I thought I was imagining it... then I heard it again.

The horrible, horrible squishing.

I peeked outside, and there he was, fins flapping in the baby pool.

The shrill klaxon squeal that issued from his mouth froze me instantly, and he squidged forward in an angry waddle. I was frozen like a deer caught in the glare from an SUV barrelling down upon him on the road, my eyes wide, my mouth open.

And then my brain took over. I slammed the door and bolted it, just before he reached the front porch and his massive bulk slapped against the wooden frame. I dragged what furniture I had over to barricade the door with, dragged everything else I could find in as well.

And now here I am, sitting in the near dark, waiting. I hear the silent squelch of his fins outside. He's waiting, too. For his final revenge.

I do not know if I shall survive this dark night. I know I do not deserve to live after what I have done; but if I do not make it through the night, it is this spear, this glinting silver in my hands that shall be my deliverance, and not him.

For one more time, this cold steel in my hands shall deny him. And that will be his life's final irony.