Getting this in just under the wire. Thanks to Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers! 🙂
Seashell of Life
In between the scallop and conk is my life-shell. I wore it on a strand of kelp until the monster of the deep pursued me. Why does that woman who paints pictures want it?
If it were my birth-night and full moon, I could walk onto the sand and reclaim it. The gods decided for our safety our ability to walk should come infrequently.
Yesterday, Eurybia scolded me: “You risk your life on seaweed.”
But I can’t abide human metals.
The painter holds my life.
“Honey, I want to mix my paints, can you grind up the shells for me?”
10 thoughts on “Seashell of Life”
the painter holds my life – i love that line.
I can see this as part of a longer story. Write it
Thanks, Neil. I had the idea, but it wouldn’t quite jell. I think you noticed it was tough going in 100 words.
A lot going on here.
Thank you, Dawn!
A magical tale. Well done.
Thank you so much, Linda.
I want to know more about that painter. Nicely done.
I kind of picture a mermaid who has her life connected to some shell. I hope that her life doesn’t abruptly end when the shell gets ground up for paint!
I hope not either. Thank you, Fatima! 🙂