Sad to say, but this is the last post in this series. I got to the last picture in the week-at-a-glance calendar last night. Now I get to print it all out, chop it up into little pieces, and try to make a whole story out of it. Should be an adventure. The question is, what do I use as a writing prompt tonight?
Looking like a handful of zebra seeds, the Zebra Nerite shells cluster in the shallows at Pink Beach. Each one different from the others, like fingerprints or snowflakes, they appear to be small modern sculptures arranged in a gallery of black rock, turquoise water and a dome of sky so blue it should be classified as a separate color. Feeling like the whore at a church picnic, Sharon carried her woven beach mat and tote bag holding her bottle of water and paperback novel as far down the beach as she could go from the happy families and napping tourists. Sharon was overdressed. She had packed for one for the more cosmopolitan islands where her six-hundred dollar swimsuit and cover up worn with gold leather thing sandals and two-hundred dollar sunglasses would put her squarely in the middle of the female pack. Instead she found herself alone on an island where the best dressed wore khaki cargo shorts, Polo shirts, and Teva sandals. She couldn't have stuck out more if she'd worn a sign. She would go home except Detective Inspector Rooibos had asked her not to leave the island until he finished his investigation. That, and the unpleasant realization that she had no home. She had spent the last seven years with Jack in a series of apartments and hotels. All she had was the contents of her three suitcases--and a little emergency money stashed in a safe deposit box in Chicago. She was stuck.
The plot thickens. *sustained pipe organ chord*
The sun's out! Enjoy your day.
--Barbara
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