Day 292 – The Shell – Short Story

The day was glorious, as the sun beat down, onto the family, as they splashed all around.

A day at the beach, a day in the sun, a day of adventure, a day full of fun.

Laney was running, searching for shells in the sand, while Stella her dog, was attempting to give her a hand.

She barked, and she leapt in the air like a loon, she crouched at the ready, and howled as if at the moon.

Laney laughed, she giggled with glee, as she went running to Stella, to see what she could see.

It was a curious shell, that sparkled in the sun, all the colors of the rainbow, flickering one, by one.

They looked at each other, smiling both broadly, suddenly, surprisingly, the shell moves oddly.

Laney, she shrieked, Stella let out a yelp, as the shell moved miraculously, without any help.

Slowly but surely, the shell moved away, towards the water, but Stella, wanted to play.

She barked, and she leapt in the air like a loon, she crouched at the ready, and howled as if at the moon.

Laney laughed, as the shell scuttled away, zigging and zagging, this way, and that way.

Then Stella, she pounced on the shell, landing on top, bring it to, a sudden stop.

Stella wagged her tail, she barked, and she howled, as something slowly, poked its head out of the shell.

It was yellow and red, with antennas on its head.

It had a body made of amour, and five seats of legs, with big pinches on the front two, kinda like clothes pegs.

It popped out of the shell, and ran into the sea, swimming away, until it, they could no longer see.


Stella barked, and she leapt in the air like a loon, she crouched at the ready, then howled as if at the moon.


Laney ran, giggling away, looking for more things, enjoying the day.

Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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