Crystal Snail
Flash Fiction Story
by Savannah Hernandez
It’s been raining for sometime now. I watch how it falls and stops and the clouds pale only to darken with rain again. I don’t know how many days have passed, but I’ve been unmoving from my spot in the doorway. My Quiet Friend sits just the same in her corner, watching me carefully, sometimes stroking her matted hair or her fingers pressing firmly into her skin when crossing her arms. I think she worries for me. My foot is no longer spilling red wet, but I can feel the memory of those crystal glass shards. I don’t know why, but it makes my stomach churn and my chest aches. I hate it. I want to forget.
A glint of blue catches my eye– a lantern, its glow peeking through the trees at the edge of the wood. I know the Cyclops comes nearer. Before I can be seen, I tuck myself behind the wall. I can hear his boots squelching in the mud into my yard, closer and closer, before stopping. It’s faint, but I can hear leaves rustling and–
I clap my hands tightly to my ears when I hear him speak but a sound. I don’t want to hear his ugly voice. Only when my ears grow with pain and then numb do I slowly let my hands fall. I can hear the rainfall, but I don’t hear the Cyclops. To be certain it’s safe, I peek outside.
There on the leaf of a growing red root plant is a snail– the one I stepped on before. The snail is dancing and humming, following the rhythm of the falling drops around it, happy to be home and whole again. The shell isn’t perfect, cracks splinter throughout its crystal form, but gold fills those crevices and holds the pieces together. It still glistens beautifully even under the dimmest light. I’m not sure how the snail recovered, but that doesn’t matter– I can feel the pangs and twinges twisting in my gut and chest washing away as I watch it celebrate its return. I leap to my feet to join the snail in its dance, but this time careful where I make my steps.
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