seashells - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The seashells were light in her out-stretched palm. They were a semi-translucent white and although they were no bigger than the nail on her pinky, each one was like a perfect unicorn's horn with a spiral running from the tip to the opening at the base. Amy wondered what kind of creature had made them, she imagined that they once belonged to tiny sea-snails.
Inside the seashells were iridescent, shining with the colors of the ocean. Blues swirled with greens and shone prettily in the early morning sun.
The upturned seashells had been made into the loveliest candles. Pure white wax had been dripped in and a wick added. Sasha placed them next to the bath tub.
Alice would describe her mail-order seashells as her little treasures of the deep. They were all so tiny, so delicate. And such an assortment of shapes and colours! She could imagine tiny sea snails living in some, while others looked like miniature clams.
The hermit crab walked around shell-less once again. It was now so big that Lily couldn't just go to the beach and pick up a shell. She had to buy one from a store. She had picked one out- white and gold and spirally and beautiful, with purple flecks. But it had cost $50. For a shell! So she'd had to settle for the brown, bumpy one, almost as ugly as the crab itself.
Zara picked up a seashell, it was nothing like the semi-clam types of the beach back home with a colour range of beige to beige. It was bigger than a starfish and shaped like a snail shell only one that had been crafted by an artist. It had regular projections at intervals that made it spiny and the whorl was elongated and elegant. The inside was a soft pink, glossy and smooth to the touch, the outside rough and rustic with chestnut brown on white. She weighed it in her hand, so light compared to a stone of the same size, but then it was just calcium carbonate.
Shaped like a whipped ice-cream piled onto an invisible cone, flecked like oreo cookies in vanilla, ridged, bumpy, generous swooping curves, pearlescent inside, perfect home for a passing hermit crab.
Like a corrugated fan, grooves and ridges sweep over the convex top to a point on the lower edge, symmetrical, irregular mottled colour, cream with dark brown flecks and blotches, smooth underneath like a domed ceiling.
Elongated, pearlescent, whorls, twisting, tapers to a point, shimmers.
Seashells oh seashells scattered the shore with no organisation anymore. For the sea comes sweep them and mingle them. Oh what a cascade of colours dropping on the shores oh what a banquet of colours millions yet none sweeping up to the confiscation of the floor.