It was never this warm down where I was born from an excess arm. Or maybe I was wanted. As an arm, I mean. I could have been shed defensively, though I don't know who would eat anything as spiny as my species. Of course I don't know what would eat me; I have not been devoured. Instead, I was netted and brought to this garden. I am safe from predators, if we have predators.
Sometimes I try to lose my arm, to startle a lazy sea cucumber or make an anemone contract the way children do—and laugh—with filthy fingers. I wouldn't laugh. I'm no better than the kids who lift me, too, into the air. It's just the hydraulics that let me move myself, my food, my breath do not have a facility for giggles. I cannot even speak this.
How do you record what flashes in the nervous ring that surrounds my mouth?
Do you?
I suppose I have to take on faith that someone's got my words. I'm not a crown of thorns. I don't eat polyps. I'm not brittle. I don't inhabit the abyss, or the tropics. These are things I've learned from the docents who loom above this garden and sometimes hold me so the little ones can stroke me.
Somehow I never remember my specific name. I'm a star. Maybe you can tell me more.
"I suppose I have to take on faith that someone's got my words. I'm not a crown of thorns. I don't eat polyps. I'm not brittle. I don't inhabit the abyss, or the tropics."
Good writing, Elizabeth. Enjoyed this piece.
I like how you assumed the identity of a starfish. Very well done.
pretty ending.
The p.o.v. is a bit hard for me to grasp, yet I like it. I like how the narrator knows things the narrator cannot know, what kids are, what predators are, if there are none. It's interesting. Will you try a flash a day for Flash Pride month? I had hoped to do that, at least to try, but it is already July 3, so I am a quitter, no flash pride. I may try a few and show a little pride. I hope you continue with it. *
I love this.*
LOVE this point of view! Beautifully written. *