31 Days of Writing – Day 3

Menapa and the Magic – Day 3

(Day 2)

Mirta pulled, her feet slipping in the sand. The sandals could find no purchase. She heard her shirt ripping, but the crab pulled her backward all the same. Mirta tossed her daughter into the sand, “Run!” she yelled, her voice cracking.

Her feet touched the sand, but Menapa stumbled, falling to her knees, catching herself with her hands in the sand, in the shadow of the beast. Her face whipped back to her mother. Mirta turned to hit the crab claw with the bottom of her fists.

“Mommy!” she cried, trying to stand.

She screamed, “Go, Mena!” punctuated by the weak thump against the hard chitinous material. Clack went the small claw, and opened again, moving towards the woman with no rush.

“You let her go, crab!” Menapa scolded it, stomping into the sand.

She could feel it then, as a breeze tickled the hair on her arms, sliding across the back of her neck: nature.

The crab’s claw raked at her mother’s side, the rough cuticle cutting through the shirt, jabbing into her side. Mirta grunted, the air knocked out of her, the pain distracting her. She tried to take a breath, feeling the liquid run down her side, hot and sticky. It seemed to burn her, and for the first time, panic took control. “Go please! Now!” she yelled flinging an arm out, pointing. She collapsed to her knees, held up by the shirt in the claw.

The sight of the blood on her mother startled her and Menapa fixated on a trail running to the band of the pants around her mother’s hips.

The wind became stronger, the grains misting against Menapa’s legs. She could feel the earth around her; she could feel the tiny broken stones surround her body. She could use them. She looked at her hands, her palms sticky with the coating from her playtime in the sand. Her fingers folded over the wet palms with a slap.

She looked into one of those empty crab eyes, and saw nothing. “Let her go!” she screamed, stepping forward, with her voice high. It hurt her throat, she was hoarse, but it reminded her of the sand; it reminded her of the nature on which they stood.

Grabbing one of her mother’s arms, she pulled. The crab didn’t relent. Clack. Clack.

“Help me!” she called.

“Menapa, I can’t! Run! Go!”

Menapa wasn’t talking to her mother, though. The tiny little grains swirled under the sea creature. The grains melted together as they surged upward to the sky. A rumbling vibrated their feet. The earth pushed the energy upward.

“Let her go!” she screamed, shaking the tears from where they had washed away her face’s dirt down to her chin.

The nature pulsed from inside her; the earth exploded from the sand. The jagged earthy brown rockspear pierced the crab, carrying it and her mother upward. The legs of the crab met Menapa’s eyelevel. Her face scrunched up in revolt as water streamed down the spear.  

The knifepoint cut through the top of the crab’s shell, slick and wet. The crab’s legs shuddered, trying to move it, to free itself.

The claw released her mother into the sand. Menapa went to her: “Mommy! Are you alright?” She held her mother’s head with both hands on the woman’s cheeks.

Her mother appraised her, her eyes moving from Menapa’s face, to her shoulders and across her body. “I’m fine. Did it hit you?”

“No!” she exclaimed, a smile breaking across her face. She could feel the power of nature receding. She turned back to the rocky pillar piercing the crab. She could almost see the energy holding the sand. It oozed back into the earth and the knife melted to sand. Riding the breeze, the sand drifted onto to the beach. 

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