A shell. An empty shell.
Sitting dormant in a familiar environment, but nothing to exist for.
Except for the enjoyment of others; the pleasing of others; the smiles on their faces when they spot said shell and pick it up, hold it, keep it, love it, store it, forget about it.

A shell. An empty shell.
Numb to the cold slap of the waves crashing around it, marking the activity of life.
Numb to the activity of life. Whatever else is swelling, crawling, breathing around itself takes the form of blurs scurrying around; the shell takes no interest.

A shell. An empty shell.
Formed over many years, weathered many storms, and perhaps provided a home for many creatures.

A shell. An empty shell.
The effect of those many years of formation can be wiped away in just seconds; by cracking, breakage, simple carelessness of others – non shell beings – around it. One whole shell broken into 10 or 15 minute pieces; placing them back together would be hopeless. All that time taken; something so solid and together quickly becomes vulnerable and beyond repair.

A shell. An empty shell.

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