a paragraph about how to entertain unwelcome guests
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Answer:
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Explanation:
I didn’t see the jellyfish, but I felt it—a searing pain at my ankle that shot up through my leg, bringing me, in a matter of seconds, to my knees in the sand.
I looked down and saw its limp, blue body floating away from me down the rivulet I’d stumbled into when the sand along its border collapsed under my step. The creature had gripped me with its tentacles for just an instant before letting go, leaving a ribbon of angry red burn blisters wound around my ankle and lower leg. I didn’t know what kind of jellyfish it was, but our guide had told us to stay away from them, and the pain was so excruciating that tears welled up involuntarily, stinging my eyes. I could almost feel the poison moving through me, my chest growing tight, my heart beating hard and fast as though it wanted out.
“Simone?” I heard my boyfriend’s voice behind me.
He knelt down to my level, saw my leg, and then glimpsed the departing jellyfish. He breathed in sharply.
“Can you stand up?” he asked, reaching for my hand.
I took it, but he practically had to drag me the first few feet before picking me up and setting me down several yards away from shore.
“Is it really painful?”
I nodded, my mouth clenched into a tiny fist.
“It’s OK,” he said. “Just don’t panic.”
But I couldn’t help it. The pain was traveling at an incredible speed—up to my thighs, to my groin, and now, my hips. I looked out at the expanse of Indian Ocean and the hard, blunt realness of our situation: Guides didn’t carry radios in Indonesia. And even if they did, where could one get us? The tiny, dusty village of Tamanjaya at the entry point of the Ujung Kulon rain forest didn’t have a fruit stand, let alone a hospital. This national park on the westernmost edge of Java saw few visitors because of its location – starting from Jakarta, we had spent eight hours on two different sweltering bus rides, two hours on a motorbike down a deeply-rutted road, and three hours on a boat out to the island of Panaitan, where we finally began our hike. My father, an expat in Indonesia, was at least a couple of plane rides away from us. After four months of traveling through the country, this was the most remote and alone we’d been. The horizon had never looked so unreachable, and the familiar had never felt so far away.
Andrew took the pocket-sized health guide we’d brought with us out of his pack and scanned the images of jellyfish, little black and white drawings on the page I couldn’t make out from where I sat.
“Is it a man-o’-war?” I asked, straining to see what he was reading.