Seashell

Seashell

A pair of small pink sandals fell down onto the sand, causing a tiny crater around them. The little girl bent down on her knees, long, also sandy colored, hair falling over her shoulders. Her cheeks were filled with color, though the rest of her skin was pale. She was wearing pale baby blue shorts, and a matching white striped top. She was wearing an oversized beach hat, decorated with fake flowers.

Her small hand reached down, touching the pearly pink rims of the shell. She picked it up and held it to her cheek, the cool and hard, yet smooth texure making her smile. She pulled it up to her ear.

'Hello Anna.' It whispered. She let out a quiet giggle. She took it away and examined it. She wondered what had spoke. She turned it over, the inward curve was completely smooth. No bumps, ridges, or holes. She put it back up to her ear. Again, it spoke. 'Hello Anna'

"Hello Anna." The little girl said louder. "Hello Anna. Hello Anna!" She turned back to her family, a round brunette woman and a scruffy, tawny dog. "Mum, this shell says hello!" Her mother turned back to her, waved, and then went back to her tan. The girl pouted. "Poor mum doesn't know how to talk to sea shells, I guess."

'No. She just doesn't know how to listen.'


........

Hm... I expected this to turn out different, but I just couldn't help it. It turned into something else after all. So I guess it's a lesson on how adults tend to lose some abilities thay had as a child, like their ability to pay attention to the little happy things. And sometimes, they only pay attention to the things they want to hear or see.