A little fun flash fiction this week in response to a lovely picture from KL Caley of New2Writing.com for this week’s #writephoto prompt. Here's the scoop: Every Thursday KL Caley posts a photo prompt, and you have until Tuesday to post. Any kind of writing, poetry, flash fiction, haiku, whatever the photo inspires. Since I'm pretty busy just now, mine's not quite 300 words of pure goofiness.

https://new2writing.files.wordpress.com/2021/12/crab.jpg

 

 

Saturday Night at the Tidepool

Sam the hermit crab was having a great night. He’d headed on down to the Tidepool after work for a few drinks a bit of kootchie-koo, and it was working out as hoped. Heck, he’d even managed to make a date for the following night with a promising she-crab with a suggestive tilt to her shell.

For a hermit crab, or really for any sort of crab, Sam was a social being. He loved to hang out with the Limpets, who were surprisingly good company if a bit clingy. The Minnows were chatterers, but made a nice background noise if you just ignored them for the most part.

Of course, there had been that misunderstanding with the Clam family when he’d hoovered up most of their offspring. When you ate super-tiny things it was sometimes hard to tell if it was decayed matter or someone’s spores. The anemones were showing off, as always, but they couldn’t help themselves. It was in their genes.

Somewhere along the line Sam had a few too many. He woke up on the bottom of the Tidepool with a throbbing head. With a throbbing head, and without his shell.

According to the Clams, whom you couldn’t really trust at all but were the only patrons who were awake and functional, he’d made a bet with Cassandra Crab, lost, and she’d left with his shell. She'd left hers behind, of course. Just the way it worked.

Cassandra’s abandoned shell was about one bedroom and half a bath short of large enough, but Sam squeezed in as much as he could and, taking a vow of sobriety, went in search of a new neighborhood. One without such a hopping nightlife down at the tidepool.

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©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2022
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