The ocean crashes and I dodge jellyfish carcasses, bloated, white and ****** like loose spittle, drenched across the sticky sand. I hop over this dead thing, so limp, so fragile. Then, I see it. A black shine. A giant pupil. Turn it βround in my hands and the rock is smooth as plastic feels when wet. Black, contrast, battered soft and hard by the tumultuous waves that had birthed it from existence into a sandy, shallow grave. Oblong, like and oval smashed, I slip the rock into my pocket, sinking pink toes into mushy wetness as the salty water laps at my thighs, chilling them.