scorpion grass short story

The sound of crashing waves reached me before I even saw the water. The day had not yet broken, but still the Sun painted the sky a multitude of colors beyond blue: rose, peach, canary yellow, and lavender-lined clouds. The Moon and the last of the rebellious stars faded reluctantly in the growing daylight. Making my way out of the woods, I could finally see the vast expanse of water kissing the morning sky where they met at the horizon. I couldn’t see anything moving under the water, and although my vision was a bit blurry to begin with, something told me there was nothing out there to see.

Somehow, I knew I was completely alone. I’d taken the unseen existence of the small, wild creatures for granted for so long, it took a moment to register that I could hear none of it then. The realization sent shivers through my stomach. I collected the long fabric of my dress to pull it past the foliage before me, finally stepping through the bushes of pale pink bleeding hearts to see the shore ahead. A lush field of scorpion grass full of flourishing blue forget-me-not flowers stood between the woods and the sparkling beach, before finally meeting the water's edge.

I sat in the sand, my pillowy pink dress pooling around me like bed sheets. Now that I was close enough, I could see the sand that the waves were caressing up close; it was an impossibly perfect pink. It felt incredibly surreal to look at if I gazed too long. All of a sudden, a glint out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

Quickly, I collected my dress and made my way down the beach. The source of the shine sat only a couple of paces away. Desperate waves reached for my left foot as I walked along the shoreline, just out of reach.

A single object sat solemnly in the sand. It stood out as quite the anomaly among the flawless pink beach. A spiral shell, specifically. It was sort of conical and it sat with its pointy tip sticking out towards the woods with the rest halfway buried. It looked like it had washed up from the water, but the way it was just barely outside the ocean’s grasp nagged at the back of my mind. Dissatisfied and curious, I crouched down to get a better look. I had thought it was white, but found upon this closer inspection that it was actually sort of pearlescent. The same way waves reflected the pastel sunrise, so too did the little seashell throw colors like a kaleidoscope.

Something within me lit up despite myself at the sight of it. I couldn’t help but feel delighted to have something to occupy my attention. While I hadn’t minded being alone for a bit, I could no longer stand the endless feedback loop of emotion that had become of my own mind. I knew it was just a shell, but I was powerless to stop the physical reaction, the relief, that washed over me when I found it.

I just sat and stared for a minute. It was truly so beautiful; but eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. Gently, I grasped the conical tip with my thumb and forefingers, and picked it up slowly.

Immediately, I realized it was much heavier than an empty shell should have been. As if met with a similar realization, a small hermit crab popped out of the bottom of the shell. It was a peachy salmon color, and its actual body couldn’t have been bigger than my thumb. I was so surprised by the sight of it, I released my grip on the shell and it fell back into the sand – as did I. The poor little guy retreated quickly back into his shell to protect himself from the fall. I didn’t blame him, but my heart immediately sank to see it hide away.

“No, no, no,” I muttered to myself. I moved to kneel on all fours to get a better perspective. I kept speaking softly to try and coax it out, as though it could understand me. The shell continued to sit motionless, almost exactly the way I’d found it. I knew I couldn’t keep messing with it, I had to give him some space. So, I crawled back up against the lip where the shore met the earth and dirt, and curled up in my skirt like a nest; and I waited.

I’m not sure how much time had passed; because I opened my eyes and the scene looked relatively the same. It was still the early morning somehow; the shell sat in the same position in the sand, and the tide was going out. A wave of anxiety took hold of me as I considered how long it might have been, and I could no longer resist the urge to act. The fear and uncertainty was eating away at me.

Once more, I grasped the little shell by the tip and lifted it out of the sand. As soon as I felt the weight of it, my heart sank. That familiar cold sensation spread through my stomach as I felt all that previous joy in me dissipate. He was gone.

I’m not sure at what point he’d made his escape. There were no new indents in the perfect pink shoreline to indicate a path taken. It could have gone back into the water, and the waves washed away the trail. Maybe it was never there to begin with, I thought to myself. Although it sounded silly, I felt like I couldn't entirely discount the possibility.

For some reason, that sentiment echoed in my mind. That familiar fear gripped my heart as I considered the possibility that it had never been there and I just imagined the whole scenario. How much of what I was seeing and thinking and feeling could really be trusted? How could I tell the difference between what’s real and what’s just a dream? Was it possible that I was already in a dream somehow? Could I trust what I saw? Could I trust myself?

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