A Broken Shell

         A broken shell, the symbol of a shattered life. How do you mend a broken shell with pieces you can’t find?


         Tristan flung open his locker door, the force of his swing sending it with a crash into the one beside it. The sound was satisfyingly loud in the empty hallway and he slammed the door again.
         Everything had gone completely wrong today as if the whole world was against him. He couldn’t understand it. He’d woken up that morning in such a great mood, ready for anything. And yet, his assignment hadn’t printed, he’d forgotten his calculator for maths and someone had nicked off with his floppy disk containing all his notes. On top of that, he’d just been told that his essay for science was crap and he’d have to redo the whole thing by Friday.
         But there was just no time, no time at all. His schedule had been planned perfectly, but now it would be a day or more out which ruined everything.
         He hit the door again, cursing when it rebounded, then flinging his locker open a second time, he dumped his books, snatched out his bag, slammed the door closed and clicked the padlock into place.
         Noise was his only relief – there was nothing in the hallway that he could damage or destroy – and he stomped off on the shortest route to the exit, his footsteps ringing loudly in the empty corridor. At least the place was empty of people. It would have been unbearable having to force a way through that zoo of animals as well: the pesky grade nines who occupied all the bottom lockers, taking up all the floor space; the queues of people waiting impatiently behind them; the idiot girls who screamed constantly and the inconsiderate bastards who stood right in the middle of the paths. Even without that whole mess Tristan couldn’t wait to get out of the school, as if the building itself was the cause of all his troubles.
         His furious stride carried him quickly to the large double doors that led outside. Escape at last! he thought and tramped impatiently through them. And came to an abrupt halt.
          “Bloody hell!” he cursed under his breath. A group of boys were gathered just outside the entrance, blocking his path to the front gate. He knew them all, but he was in no mood for hanging around. All he wanted was to get home and these damn people were in his way!
         He was about to force a path between them, when someone called his name: “Oi, Tristan! Catch!”
         Tristan looked up irritably as something flew through the air towards him. Instinctively he put his hand up but there was no way he was going to do what one of these stupid idiots demanded of him. He moved his hand at the last moment, his palm just clipping the white object and sending it spinning over his left shoulder. Someone screeched as it smashed against the heavy school doors, the noise mixing with what sounded like a shattering vase.
         The boys smirked uneasily and shifted on their feet, giving Tristan a clear view of the girl who had cried out. She was crouched on all fours – as if she had been whipped – her mousy brown hair plastered to her face by tears. Blindly, she looked up at Tristan, her expression full of anguish, then stumbling to her feet she fled, her sobs lingering in the still air.
         Tristan stared after the girl in horror, his anger and frustration forgotten. He saw again the flash of white, but this time in his mind it wasn’t just a vague something. It was a beautiful shell – a huge conch – flying straight towards him. Of all the bloody things to throw! Tristan thought bitterly as he saw again his hand swinging out and sending the shell into the school doors.
          “Nice going, Tristan!” the leader of the pack suddenly crowed. “Knew we could count on you!” The boy turned, making sure the others followed, then sauntered away. His fun was over, the girl’s feelings of no consequence to either him or his followers.
         Tristan stood alone at the front of the school, the result of his anger lying in a dozen pieces just behind him. He felt awful. His troubles, his irritations, seemed trivial compared to what the girl must have been going through. He didn’t know why the shell was so special to her, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had made everything worse.

         Iris had stopped running as soon as she was out the gate: her tears and the runny nose that came with crying had quickly seen to that. Her fingers dragged along the cliff wall beside her, her feet following the path made by the stone as it bent this way and that. Without her guiding hand, it would be all too easy for her to miss the narrow opening in the rock. It was little more than a crack and practically invisible from the south.
         The thought of the private and empty cove cheered her just a little. The cliff face –worn smooth over the years by the elements – extended up and around in a protective semicircle, with a deep stone ledge on one side which ended abruptly in the ocean.
         The cove was a place of solitude, a place where all her worries could disappear for a while. She didn’t have to put on a brave face. She didn’t have to be someone she wasn’t. She could let everything out and no one would ever know. It was her refuge, her sanctuary. A secret that no one else knew about.
         Eventually, her fingers found the crack in the cliff wall and, hesitating for only a moment, she stepped into the narrow opening. Claustrophobia swamped her senses immediately but she forced herself onwards, and then she was out, the smell of the sea strong in the air.
         The wind caught at her clothes and hair instantly, blowing them behind her like a flag back in the direction of the school. It was a constant reminder of where she had come from, of what she had come from. Of who she really was.
         Outcast. Loser. Piece of shit.
         She heard the words again, over and over in her mind. There was no stopping them now. Her fragile wall crumbled. The words flooded through, stagnant water that drowned her in misery.
         Tears pricked her eyes for the hundredth time that day, spilling over her cheeks and making her face cold and numb in the wind. So many tears. Silent tears. Would they never stop?
         She sank back against the cliff, the scenes branded deeply on her mind. The cruel taunts and cold laughter were ever present in her ears, endless reminders that she was nothing. Nothing and nobody.
         There is no purpose to my life, no meaning. Why am I even alive?
         Painful thoughts, making her cry even harder. The wind battered against her, the ocean roared in her ears.
         There is no reason for my existence.
         She staggered to her feet and moved away from the cliff, the ocean growing louder and closer with each step. Waves crashed violently against the rocks, their spray flying up to mingle with her tears.
         I will never amount to anything.
         She stopped at the last moment, a metre higher than the restless ocean; the rock beneath her feet plunging straight down into the thrashing water. One more step was all it would take. One more and she would be gone.
         Slowly, as if in a trance, she raised her left foot to step over the edge and then a voice split the air behind her: ‘Don’t do it.’
         Iris started violently, losing her balance on the precipice. Panic squeezed her heart as she fell and in that instant, she knew with utmost certainty that she didn’t want to die.
         The ocean tilted dangerously towards her. She was falling, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. A scream rose in her throat, and then she was jerked to a halt, hanging over the edge, so close to death.
         She looked up, eyes filled with tears. Not daring to hope. Someone was shouting at her, but she couldn’t make out the words. A boy’s voice, she thought distantly, high pitched with panic. He had her by the jacket, but it was no use. She could feel herself slipping, slipping. Three seconds until her death. Two. One. And then she was gone. Falling. Drowning. Sucked into the cold of the unmerciful ocean. Never to be seen again.


         At first there was nothing. Just an empty space, devoid of all feeling. Then a blackness and a slow rhythmic beeping. She tried to move but she felt weak, oh so weak. What happened? Something…. She couldn’t remember.
         Her eyelids fluttered. A bright light pierced their depths and she gasped, seeing spots in the blackness. Someone spoke.
         “Iris?”
         Yes, she whispered in her mind. Iris. That was her name.
         She tried again to open her eyes, this time squinting against the light and then something moved in her vision, blocking out that bright spot above her. An arm, she realised, fiddling with something above her. She moved her head, managed to roll it to the side, and tried to focus on what she saw there.
          “It’s all right, Iris,” a calm feminine voice told her. “I’m Nurse Amelia. You had a little accident but thanks to your little boyfriend over there you made it to the hospital just in time.”
          “What?” Iris tried to say, but her throat was too dry and it came out as a croak.
         The nurse nodded towards the other side of the room. “Poor boy, he’s been here since dawn. Refused to leave of course so now the little tucker’s tired out. Don’t be too hard on him for falling asleep, will you now? He’s already blaming himself for your fall.
          “Now, don’t you worry, I’ll be back to check on you soon,” the nurse added, and swept out of the room.
         Iris was confused. Had she lost her memory? She didn’t think so, but something had happened to put her in hospital. What was it the nurse had said? Iris hadn’t really been listening but it was something about a boyfriend she didn’t have and a fall…
         Iris’ eyes snapped open and she rocked her head to the other side where the nurse had gestured. The first thing she saw was the boy.
         Tristan, her mind thought automatically, and as if that one word was the key, she remembered everything: the boys at the front of the school, their jeering taunts, her mother’s broken shell, the dash to the cliff edge and the final fall into the ocean.
         She had been so stupid, letting them get to her like that and after all those years of ignoring them too. Hadn’t her mother’s death taught her anything?
         Her eyes wandered around the room, then stopped in surprise. On a table beside her bed was a beautiful white shell: Iris’s shell. Her mother’s last gift before she had died. It looked whole, but it would never be the same even though the pieces had been carefully glued together.
         She could just see the fine tracing of cracks on the surface, but she didn’t feel the same about it as she had when it had first smashed against the school doors. It had been precious to her then, and she had only taken it to school to give herself some comfort.
         But now, after her own brush with death, it was just an object. Still with meaning, but it wasn’t anything to die for.
         She thought about the past few days, though she didn’t know how long she had been in hospital. Her life had fallen apart, but by some miracle the pieces had been found and put back together. Of course, she would never be the same. Experiences left scars: a fine tracing of cracks that would help to shape her life in the future.