Picture Prompt #10
Whilst I’m submerged in the drafting of EVO Ghost, these posts may be a little sporadic, but I will be continuing with them.
Today’s picture prompt is of some coastal pretties… shells. My house is full of beautiful pebbles and shells. It’s just one of the joys of living in Cornwall, England.
My five year old daughter has a sneaky habit of filling my handbag with unique, seaside treasures when we go to one of our favourite beaches. ‘What is wrong with that?’ I hear you ask. Oh, there is a walk to this beach (no car access to the public), and every single time I wonder why my shoulder is aching until I discover the boulder size rocks I’ve been hauling.
The Sound of Freedom
The shell looks massive in her tiny, squishy hand, but there is nothing bigger than her love for me. I just had to fish a shell out of a rock pool and I’m a hero in her eyes. I do nothing of value for her, yet she idolises me. The thought leaves a sick feeling in my stomach. The poor, little mite has no idea who I am, not really.
“It’s empty, Daddy,” she says, a frown swallowing up her dimples.
“That’s why it’s special. It may look empty, but it’s not. Shells carry the sound of the sea for eternity.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says, the glint in her eye betraying her curiosity.
I hear the slam of a car door from the car park, and a blonde head bobs frantically as Bethan sprints across the sand. Dragging Lyla behind the rocks, I drop to my knees in front of her. The wet sand damps my trousers, but that matters little right now.
Taking in every thing about her in a split second, I take the shell, hold it to her ear, and clasp her small hand over it. “I want you to close your eyes and listen.” She does as I ask without question. “Can you hear it?”
A gappy smile spreads over her face. “Yes, I can. I can hear the sea. It’s the sound of the waves on the sand.”
“Keep your eyes closed. Keep listening,” I say, getting to my feet, and heading toward the coastal path cut into the rocks.
Will she understand why I have to do this? Will she be told lies about me? The truth? I’m not sure what is worse. I take a final look at my beautiful girl before turning from her and slipping away. One last special memory was all I wanted. I hope she thinks of me whenever she visits a beach, or when she teaches her own children about the magic of shells. She will always be the first thing on my mind when I wake, and the last thing when I lay down to sleep.
“Lyla!” shouts Bethan’s terrified voice. Of course she is terrified, she thought I snatched our child. “Lyla!”
My feet thud the sandy pathway, putting distance between my old life and my new one. Then, her cries carry over the wind. She screams for her Daddy as sirens fill the air. My heart shatters, never to be fully whole again. Is freedom worth this?
All written works and images are the property of K.J.Chapman
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