Found I one day whilst walking along the beach a seashell, and to my ear did place I this shell in order to hope to hear perhaps the sounds of the ocean blue. Found I to my amazement that could I indeed hear all of the sounds that hoped I had perhaps to hear; the eerie song of the majestic blue whale, the clicking of a crab waving to his lobster chum, the tearing of an orca’s teeth through the flesh of a baby seal, and the comforting voice of Sir David Attenborough narrating it all to me.
Found I further a memory coming to me, quick as a flash, and this memory reminded me to remember that located was I still on a beach, a beach of endurance thus far, as walked I had for many a mile to reach this point of standing. Found I to find that this was true, and found I that this almost perfectly explained in detailed detail why could I hear these sounds of aural properties. However this did not explain to I as to why could I hear the voice of the UK’s most famous, favourite and famously favourite natural historian.
Found I quickly, after using the medium of my vision and logic that the good Sir Attenborough was not to be found in the immediate vociferous visual vicinity. Thought I quickly, to find I may have thought about where he could actually be stationing himself stationary or otherwise mobile. Immediately I directed my eye to the inside of the shell and queried I the possibility of finding the man of whom speak I inside this shell of my holding.
Found I now that this shell of the sea’s discarding was not the current abode of the one of elusive vocal location, but that instead of a harmfully harmless hermit crab. This craftily cunning crab-like crustacean did I not see until it extended its sinewy crusty claw towards the eye of mine and greedily and unremorsefully insisted on removing the important pupil of eye, thus literally pinching I in the eye, and pinching the eye from I. Found I that this hurt.
Found I myself stumbling forward with painful pain cruelly crippling my fastidious face, blood streaming past my normal nose, all once more to the soothing baritone of David Attenborough’s explicit educational narration. Frightened I became, and swinging my fists was I in order that perhaps if he be not a spectre that he connect heartily and intricately with the fist swung I had at him, in order that I may free I from my plight with painful eye. Alas I was not lucky enough with such subtleties of life, and stepped I through a portal into the past.
Found I with eye anew staring almost eye to eye with I and I was perplexed. Saw I that I of past was about to remove from sandy floor the seashell of before and thus disturbing its place of lighting. Indignant was I that I of past was perhaps to venture towards an indignity similar to that of I of present, that I stepped forward to stop what past I looked like I was about to. Plunged I downwards did and came to rest at the bottom of a hole, containing another I, perhaps being I from the same paradox. Both of I perplexed were and decided I did then that I should upwards look. Noticed I then that I was also cross-eyed, perhaps thought I in part of the new eye and discrepancies of design therein, or the sight of I staring I in the eye.
Found I after upwards looking prolonged that cramp had come to I in the neck of I and that I and I with eyes anew were the captives of David Attenborough, reading to I both the script of a televisual programme regarding creatures of the ocean blue. Unimpressed was I but happy crafty David now was and showing I was he upon his visage. Captured I and I were and comfortable was I not. Attenborough narrated on I and I and our eyes as part of his evil experimental and frankly tedious telemedium project about I.
Found I to be less than happy about this, and found I that I was never willing to share in the upkeep of the hole. Contented I became however, with the luxurious en-suite afforded to I.
Found I that years passed before I and dead I now was, eating I to stay alive thanks to the lack of food supplied to I. Hungry often became I now that I was already digested, and fortuitously I revelled in the sweet, crunchy texture generously offered up by the bugs of the hole.
Found I food important to be and to have available to I, and so perished did I finally, with only enough time to finish this inscription I inscribed. Found I then that the moral of the story enlightened itself to I as threefold in power: eat food, follow not blindly strange voices, avoid crab claws to the eye of I. Depart I now do; fare thee well interested listening friend.
© Kris Blackburn 23/11/07