The Remarkably Depressed Tiger Shark

Damn my species. Why is it that the silly little yellow fish with not a care in the world gets to live in a well-grown reef with friends and an endless supply of smaller fish to eat while I get to be subjected to open ocean torture every waking second of my life? I am the top of the food chain. I am the biggest, baddest creature of the seven seas, but also the saddest, loneliest one. I could have any meal I want- if only I could find one. I've spent each moment of my life either wondering when my next food will come or if I should keep my food as a friend. No one could possibly relate to my pain, the ocean is my only friend and I'm beginning to doubt even that relationship. It won't talk to me anymore, can't even stand to see my face. I couldn't bring myself to blame it. I don't want to talk to me either, but what else would I do? I spend my days wondering if I could find a turtle to bring along with me on my journeys, but they seem too scared. The swordfish are too pokey. Krill are too small. Trash is too trashy, even for me. To be a complex-thinking predator is to be alone, lost in thought until you can't swim any further.