I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Saturday, 22 February 2014

THE SHAPE AND THE SHELL (a.k.a. Another Entry for the Creative Writing Ink Writing Prompts Competition)

Here's that link again - http://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/
I'm posting these here because them's the rules.

            The golden shape was within reaching distance of the shell. It hadn't decided precisely what shape it wanted to be yet, but its arms certainly needed to lengthen. The sand was no ground to stand on and the waves certainly couldn't be trusted.
            The shell wasn't it's shell: the golden shape had no intention of hiding within it. In fact it wanted to break it. Somehow. It had a few ideas but was still thinking them through.
            The shell reflected only some of the golden shape's light back; it was bone dry. The shape tried to ignite it remotely but it was too far away. It would have to get closer but its limb-like rays were already boiling through the soggy sand. Giving in to temptation, the shape started to float. Not too far off the ground, barely an inch.
            The golden shape loomed over the shell. It was illuminated, no shadows, the sand baking beneath it. One of the shape's blobs sprouted into an arm which simplified into a tentacle before touching the top of the shell. Nothing more than a touch, a lick of radiation, and the shell crumbled. The golden shape dimmed. The waves hissed beneath its emanating heat.
            Sparing only a moment's pause, which sounded rather like a sigh, the golden shape ascended into the fading sky, breaking large clouds with the force of its frustration. The waves retrieved the bits of shell one at a time. 

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