a freelance journal

The Gift

A fictional short.

The Gift

An awkward little oval.  The shell has the tiniest of ridges along this side.  Weird solid amoebic patterns.  The thing looks symmetrical but yet not quite.  Just the kind of thing she would pick out. Like when she looks at fish. She really likes those bright ones on the reef. All the oranges, whites, blues and spots and waves and lines.  A really nice mix of browns.  Yup, I think she would like this.  I wonder what happened to the top.  I hope she invents some story.  I’m definitely gonna ask her.

It’s been a long time since that other left.  I’m not nearly as mobile without her.  My colors have started to rub and I have a crack along my ridge. I’m well-cared for I suppose.  But I’m pretty sure there was another.  Sometimes I almost remember, and then it is gone. I know now I don’t move very much.  It’s safe.  I have my color and despite its fading and splitting, it is still beautiful.  This all I need.  This is enough.

Well little guy, what do you know that I don’t?

Oh, we are moving again.  Is the other back?  Is it someone new?  The hands are gentle I suppose.  That is good.  It is enough.

What were your days like?  What have you seen?  Was it a lot?  Where have you been?

I wonder how this will end?  What will I find?  Where will we go?  I hope it is to be a good place, but it will be enough I suppose.

I wonder if you are long in your life?  What can you tell my little girl?  How deep is the sea?  What does blue look like down there? How dark?  Here shell, you tell her some stories and let her discover others.  Tell her stories of lands and places you have seen.  Let her discover how deep and far these places are and where they might take her.  Well, you two get to know each other.  Thanks.

Oh, these new hands are soft. Gentle.  They are so small compared to the others. Oh I hope I remember this.  I hope I am shiny for these hands.  They touch so earnestly.  This will be so good.


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