Suddenly, Cici stops and appears to be looking under the old, gray, wooden dock. I slip my cell phone into the pocket of my tattered, blue jean shorts and run down the stairs heading to the dock. Cici was still staring under the dock when I ask, "Cici, what's wrong?" Cici keeps her focus under the dock and starts to drag something from under the dock. Seaweed is hanging on the thing as she drags it into the orange canoe. She places her fingers on what appears to be the neck on a body and begins to check for a pulse. ...
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Suddenly, Cici stops and appears to be looking under the old, gray, wooden dock. I slip my cell phone into the pocket of my tattered, blue jean shorts and run down the stairs heading to the dock. Cici was still staring under the dock when I ask, "Cici, what's wrong?" Cici keeps her focus under the dock and starts to drag something from under the dock. Seaweed is hanging on the thing as she drags it into the orange canoe. She places her fingers on what appears to be the neck on a body and begins to check for a pulse. "What is it?" I asked seeing tears gently flowing down Cici's face.
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