Seashells

[tt_7]

 

The beach was always beautiful and calming to me, and it was a relief to have the fine, warm sand beneath my toes after a punishing long trip.

The last time I was here, the sea which seemingly ended at the horizon was a clear blue, and the rays of the sun reflected on its undulating surface as blindingly white sparkles, skipping and shifting wherever the ripples take them to. The sea breeze was a fierce gust of wind, bringing with it a cold nip and a tangy whiff from the sea itself.

Not much has changed since then.

I picked one of the seashells and held it in my first three fingers. Running my index finger on its body, the smooth surface of the shell was rolled into an ascending concentric spiral like that of a rolled paper, and finally ended up in a broken peak. Its creamy white, I noticed, ended at a black-hued band which sat at the bottom most part from its chipped off peak. It was almost too easy to forget that they didn’t smell as good as they looked. I wrinkled my nose at the smell, and forcefully threw it in a red-lidded jar. I was accustomed to the reeks but every shell had never failed to surprise me. Each with its own unique reek.

Another shell was also of a concentric spiral, but unlike the previous one, this was of a circular shape which resembled a coin with a spiral drawn on it. A maroon background, decorated with alternating stripes of dark purple and white…the candy. Yes, it was the candy. Circle, pink, white. Happy memories that were brought to a sharp, abrupt end. A flash of anger flickered in me for a split second, mingled with the strong sulphuric smell, soon gave rise to rhythmic waves of wrath that threatened to boil over and wreck all that was alive. Soon enough, every jar was filled with seashells, from the thorniest spirals to smooth-walled ones, from elongated shapes to circular ones, and not forgetting the smell. Some shells smell stronger than the others. I shook the sand off my hands by a clapping-like action.

Come.

There is an infamous rule where you should never, ever touch any driftwood that happens to have a black or red cloth tied on it and juts towards the sea, as if it were ready to leave shore on command. Some visitors were brave enough to ignore the locals’ warnings, or were never informed of this rule. All who broke this rule not only dare lay their finger on these driftwood, but also they took it a level further by doing all those funny poses that had them sitting on, riding and worse still, jumping on these respected creations.  

As one could expect, such disrespect did not go unattended, even if most of the times they seemed to be. Witnesses report of the wood itself coming to life and ending the poor folks’ lives then and there, in the most traumatizing manner they ever saw in their life. There was no way to describe the horror that unfolded before them.

The sea breeze continued to blow, and the palm leaves rustled as the wind carried them in a peaceful sway.

No, no. Please! I promise I won’t do it again! Please, let me out! I never meant to! The dog! It was only for fun! It was only a joke!

Let me out! Let me out! I never meant to! It was only a game! The sweet little girl agreed to play. The knife was only part of the game! I only wanted to have some fun, and she was enjoying it too!

I was already used to the cacophony of voices coming from the red-lidded glass jars, and I left their pleas drowned in the noise which again, I was supposed to be accustomed to. I caught up with the remaining white sands and beckoned towards the calming blue of the seas.

Come.

Limb-like structures shot out of the trunk of the driftwood and they twisted and contorted as quickly as they sprouted out, and the jutting edges pointing towards the sea sculpted itself to a head of a beast looking nearest to a horse, except with three claws on each foot. Four limbs formed of sturdy yet dark wood took on proper forms to finally complete its transmogrification to a creature resembling a horse, but I don’t reckon any living soul would desire to mount this beast. More of these similar beasts took form with long red reins, and I produced a small box I had secured to my belt by a hanging linked chain. A simple charm later, the little cuboid was now a covered cart with exquisite designs, ready to store all the jars of seashells I’ve collected.

The beast was already pawing the ground and letting out an irritated snort by the time I finished the routine ritual. Ruffling its black head, I offered a gentle apology and gave it a comforting stroke on its neck. Its empty yellow eyes closed, and its head was close to mine as I supported its muzzle, also closing my eyes, wishing I could close them forever to the sickness that plagued humankind. 

Come.
 
I shook the black reins gently after settling myself comfortably in a simple piece of black leather I called a saddle. A sharp shriek erupted  from its mouth filled with dagger-like teeth  before breaking into a gallop that blurred the rest of my surroundings. The rest followed through with a shrieking cacophony and restless gallops, eager to depart to the disappearing horizons.

The sickly thick green streak across the sky emerged from the sun, or perhaps the horizon where sea and sky met; this would not be the last of me.

 

Edit 1: Naturally I'd put this behind a cut, but the commands for DW's cut function seem to be broken
Edit 2: I based the beasts on horses irl but not so sure if I did this accurately