Beachcomber

A couple of months back I happened to come across a piece of seashell on the beach. I was immediately awed by its beauty even while standing on the sandy ground under the hot sun. I turned it to the left, then a little to the right, and back again to the left, it gleamed like a piece of precious stone in my palm.

I kept it in a box. It was my little secret. Long have I wanted to string it into a necklace but then there were the constant doubts of whether it should be worn like a piece of accessory. I wasn't sure if it was right for me. 

Days came and went just like that, until one day I decided to bring this little shell out of the box. Coincidental perhaps, but it managed to ward off some bad stuff that day. That night, I gazed at it admiringly for its make-believe mystical power. 

Next thing in the morning I will string it and wear it proudly for all to see! But little did I know that for the past months of this little habitat of a once living creature, had turned fragile after being away from the sea water for far too long. 

I was the happiest kid in town. Silly perhaps, but definitely on cloud nine with that piece of shell. I believed that with it, I no longer had to feel afraid of the evil powers around. I was safe. I felt protected. How delirious I was. 

After exactly a week, as I was blowing away imaginary specks of dust on it, I accidentally puffed a little too strong and it fell from my hands onto the cold tiles. It was smashed to smithereens. I wasn't prepared to lose it yet. I had only worn it for a week. It was too soon. Far too soon. I wanted it back. I wished I didn't try to clean it. Perhaps then it wouldn't have fallen onto the ground. At least I would still have it in my palms now. 

How much tears I have shed over that piece of shell I have no idea. All I knew was that I just wanted it back really badly. So much so that I was too paranoid to leave the house without it. I felt weak. I felt vulnerable. Like I was going to be blown up by some wizard out of the corner or something. 

I tried to glue it back. But then I only made it worst. 

I looked at that piece of shell. At the mess I have turned it into. 

Was it still salvageable? I really don't know. Hopefully.

That night, I dreamt that I was back at that beach. The sun was still there baking everything it could reach with its beams. It was exactly the time when I first found that shell. Then I realized something. As I was walking nearer towards it, I was in fact stepping over and crushing other sea shells as well. There was a whole beach filled with them! From clam shells to sand dollars. 

As I woke up, I realized that the little piece of shell that I found was not the only one there is. 

I opened up the wooden box and looked at the damage that I've done earlier. Regretful I was. But I knew I shouldn't be too sad over it. Though shattered, I don't think I could bring myself to put it into the bin. It was afterall the very first piece that made me believe in magic all over again.