Nacre's Embrace from Grain to Gleam: A Story of Quiet Revenge

Sand only looked to alight, find some alone-time in the muck no fuss was meant, it is only a space as big as a grain taken, escaping its identical brethren of billions on the sea floor. Oyster only opened his rigid lips to rinse, to breathe the brine, to move a snack through his labial palps in private, when a tiny intruder, unwelcome, unbidden, disturbs the digestion, initiates the unintended consequence of oyster's defensive reaction. Called upon, mitigation arrives over time. Nacre warriors, layer by layer, smooth sand's edges to soothe oyster's irritation, an effort that deafens new pleas from a grain now only looking to go home. In the dark-churned slime, desire emerges as a luster in the mud, a dazzling monster named Pearl, radiant and angry, hard with longing to be unloosed from her mucous roots. She sends dreams as currency of streaming shimmers, to bolster her chances of freedom from an endless, watery night. Lured by the glimmer, human hands pry open shy bivalve, tongue and lips slurp up the middle like a salty kiss, until teeth accidental onto eager Pearl warmed by the breath. For the indiscretion she now sits pocketed in slacks belonging to hands with plans to pierce her spine, string her along, then hang her on another lover's neck— stranger to sand and pearl, already grown wayward in closeness, is a new desire that oyster degrade on ocean's bottom, turn into sand and join them on the choker.