The Voice of the Shell

The shore walks have become a habit now, a daily ritual. I've walked for miles, treading the sand, crunching shells beneath my feet, searching for another pebble like that first.

I've gotten faster, more efficient. I don't need the sun any more. My torch does just as well, sweeping the rocks, searching for that flicker of light, some hope of reflected perfection.

The only thing that stops me now is the tide, and I almost didn't notice that last night. The salty water around my ankles brought me round.