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A Pink Sea Shell


I’m so tired, completely exhausted.


“Hi Anne,” I hear.


“Hi Toby.”


“Anne, do you want to take the boat out on the bay? It’s such a beautiful day.”

“Yes. Let’s,” I say.


So, the two of us get the boat and off we go.


“Look at those fish. And those fish. They’re all dead. And strange looking—orange and green. What’s going on Toby? Toby? Toby? Toby—Where are you? And where am I? I’ve never been here before.”


Then it starts to rain. “It was so beautiful before and now it’s raining,” I say to myself as I go inside. “And it got so windy. This is scary. Where am I? Where is Toby?


Boom!!!


I crashed into the rocks on the shore. And look, there’s a hut nearby. I think I’ll go there. Hopefully, I can stay inside.


I get there. I knock. No one answers. I go inside. There are two beds and a dresser. On the dresser is a pink sea shell the size of a fist. I’m exhausted. I lie down on one of the beds. And that’s it. I fall asleep.


The alarm rings. What a dream! I better get ready for school. I’m a junior in high school. One more year to go.


I get to school. School is as usual, boring. Later, I have lunch with my girlfriends. As usual, they are having the same conversation as always—what was on television the night before and what’s going on at school.


After school I go to my girlfriend Grace’s house and watch television, tuned into all the singing and dancing. Grace goes out of the room and a hand comes out of the television and pulls me in. I’m now singing and dancing with everybody.


“But wait,” I tell them after a while, “I have to go home.”


“Where do you live?” they want to know.


I give them my address. I get thrown out of the television where I live. I’m now in the den at home. I walk into the kitchen. There is my mother.


“Hello Anne,” says my mother. “I didn’t hear you come home. How was school today?”


“Okay,” I say.


I can’t believe everything that happened really happened, I think to myself. I’ll go into my room now and do all that boring homework. Then I’ll write my stories and poems. Maybe this weekend I’ll do some painting. I’m content.


But what happened to Toby? Was I imagining all that? Let me call Toby.


Ring…


Toby answers.


“Hi Toby. How are you? How was the trip you took on the bay yesterday?”


“What are you talking about, Anne. I spent the weekend at my grandparents’

House in Scarsdale.”


“Oh,” I say. I must have been dreaming”


Then I look on my dresser. I see something new—a pink sea shell the size of a fist.





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