Flying Seashells

“Close your eyes.

“Imagine you’re standing in a beach, the sand covering your bare feet. A splash of cold water makes you gasp. So unexpected, yet so refreshing.

“Now listen to the waves crashing against the sand.

“Moisten your lips and taste the salt floating in the air.

“Open your eyes, Lisa.”

The beach reminds me of my childhood. I gasp and raise my eyelids. “The seashell!”

The doctor's forehead wrinkles. “Tell me about the seashell.”

“I was nine when we found it. My dad said it played ocean music, and I-I…”

He stares at me, waiting for me to continue. I look away, concentrating on a painting of a blue mountain.

I face him. “It sounded like the sea, but I know that sound is—”

“It doesn’t matter what you know now,” he interrupts. “What matters is what it was to you.” He writes a note. “What did you feel?”

My hands sweat. “It didn’t feel right.” I pause, but he gestures me to continue. I sigh, knowing I need to tell him. “It stunk.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.

“It made a sound so loud,” I continue, “I threw the seashell to the ground and yelled.”

He writes on his notepad, his eyes glued to mine. “And then?”

“I passed out.”

He rubs his forehead. “Is this how your problem started?”

I nod. Memories rush to my mind. The hospital. The way the nurses looked at me, as if I were a monster. The constant medicine. Mom smiling, her eyes sad.

“Where are your parents?” he interrupts my thoughts.

“Parents?” I echo, thinking. “After the incident, I never saw my dad again. He died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the doctor says, but I know he’s trying to be sympathetic as this information is on my file.

I give him a half smile. “That was a long time ago.”

“What about your mother?” he asks.

I shake my head and roll my eyes. “You know what happened to her. Why do you ask?”

“Sorry.” He takes a deep breath. “Do you know why she is...there?”

Here we go again. This is the fifth doctor I tell what happened. “She hated me.”

The doctor pens more notes. “Why?”

“Because of the stupid seashell,” I want to run away, but I know they’re waiting for me outside.

“What about the seashell?” he asks.

“Because seashells kill people. That’s why!”

His face hardens, and he looks at me intently. “You’re not ready.”

“I am!” I say.

“You’re in denial.” He shakes his head. “You killed your parents.”

“No, I didn’t!” I wrestle with my straitjacket and stand.

Two guards storm inside the room and grab my shoulders, while the doctor injects me. I feel dizzy.

Seashells fly, hitting people’s heads, making them explode.