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It glittered in the sun

as she went to pick it up.

But it sliced her finger

and she drew back, afraid.

But there it lay, still

and she felt a need to try again.

She put on a glove,

reached down,

and this time she grasped it.

But as she tried to pull it out it sliced through her glove and again ripped open her hand.

This time badly.

But still it had her attention,

so she wrapped her bleeding hands in her sweatshirt,

bent down,

and with both hands tried to pull it free.

She felt it move before it sliced both hands down to the bone.

But now, it had budged,

and this encouraged her,

so despite her ruined hands,

she wrapped the object of her desire in a towel, grasped it in agony,

and pulled and pulled and pulled.

Finally, in a last effort the object came free and she caught a glance of it

just before she fell onto it,

where it pierced her heart,

and she died.

A man appeared on the beach beside her and said:

“If only she could have asked for help, she would not have had to struggle so hard that it killed her.”