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?”