Burrowing through the golden sand, the seashells grasp onto grains as the waves whirl. Silver spume splashes and pulls at them, and the billows beckon toward dark depths.

The seashells must latch onto the land, desperate not to lose themselves to despair. They bury themselves in a blanket of calm, but no sooner than they do so, the tides roll and tug at them again.

Hang on, little seashells, don't you let go.

The waves laugh in bubbles as they rip apart the sandy coven of comfort the seashells had so exhaustingly built. They...