A little girl runs barefoot in the sand, her feet sinking into the soft substance. Her dress blows behind her as the cool breeze blows her brown hair out of her face.

She is laughing as her mother calls to her, telling her she must leave. “Five more minutes?” She asks, her voice flowing in melodically.

The mother sighs, putting her hands on her hips, her sun hat in one hand and her sun dress stained with the sand her daughter made her play in. “One more minute,” Her mother decides.

The little girl turns back around, racing into the wind, unrestrained and free.

But just then, she trips on something, falling on her face. She blinks, shocked. She thought the sand was smooth.

She looks under her, where she fell. A seashell. That was what had tripped her. Her eyes widen. “How wonderful!” She squeals.

She quickly scoops up the seashell, cradling it in her arms, mesmerized. It was beautiful. A gentle type of beauty, simple. White and pinks, and little speckles where the sea beat down on it.

She stares at it for far greater than just a minute. But when she looks up to see if her mother is calling to her, she finds that she is underwater.

But… how? She is breathing. She is dry. How is she at the very bottom of the sea?

She grins, curiosity sparking in her as she moves forward. The sea is a huge, gorgeous thing. Treasures lie in the sand, sparks of oranges and greens sprouting up through it.

The girl swims, well, walks somehow forward. How could there be a whole other world below the one she knew so well? She wanted to see everything.

She races on the sand, weaving through towers of coral and bushes of seaweed. Away from schools of fish and up mounds of sand. Magical. That’s what this place is.

A flash of movement. A swirl of water. The girl gasps. And a shark tears through the water, chasing her.

Screams are muffled by the water as she shrieks and shrieks and shrieks, running as fast as she can away from the monster.

She’s too slow. She knows it. Tears stream down her face as she cries, the shark close on her heels.

Her legs have never move faster. She is shaking, sobbing, screaming. Just as a cave comes into view, the shark bites down on the girl. The girl stops screaming. She stops running. She stops breathing. She is dead.

The seashell falls to the ocean floor, padding softly on the sand before it sinks slightly.

One day it will rise to the surface again. One day another little girl will pick it up again.

The mother is still calling for her child, panic clawing at her chest, unsure what happened to her. The mother will never know.

The seashell contains the many wonders, and the many horrors of the vast mass of water. It lures people with its simple beauty, and shows them the world inches from their own. Not all are unlucky like the little girl. Some just spend their time exploring the sea and find beautiful creatures. But the seashell is just a shell of the sea. It can not restrain the horrors of the sea nor promote the beauty of it. It shows whoever holds it the stark truth of the ocean, unbiased in any way. It holds the sea within it.