She found the perfect seashell on her fourth day of looking. A pale conch, perfectly shaped, made smooth by the ocean beating against the shore. She cradled it in her hands, felt its spines against her fingers, ran home with it at once.
It took her a while, to work up the courage, but once she started listening, she couldn't stop. When she put it to her ear she could hear the ocean, yes, but she could also hear whispers. They told her of a faraway land and a treacherous plot, of a quest that only she could undertake. They told her of her destiny.
It didn't occur to her that the whispers might be true. She wrote it off as an auditory hallucination, an illusion of some kind.
To this day, the whispers urge her, growing more panicked each day. She listens to the conch as she falls asleep. At home and safe. Beside her, the lamp, growing dimmer and dimmer. Its single, flickering flame of its candle.
It took her a while, to work up the courage, but once she started listening, she couldn't stop. When she put it to her ear she could hear the ocean, yes, but she could also hear whispers. They told her of a faraway land and a treacherous plot, of a quest that only she could undertake. They told her of her destiny.
It didn't occur to her that the whispers might be true. She wrote it off as an auditory hallucination, an illusion of some kind.
To this day, the whispers urge her, growing more panicked each day. She listens to the conch as she falls asleep. At home and safe. Beside her, the lamp, growing dimmer and dimmer. Its single, flickering flame of its candle.
1
reactions
1