“There, see?” Dad pointed down at the sand. “They’re called hermit crabs because they don’t have shells of their own. When they get too big, they go find a bigger shell to use.”
Allie squatted and watched the naked crustacean scuttle away. “Where do the big shells come from?”
“Oh, all sorts of things make their own shells.” Dad sighed and stood. “It’s all part of the circle of life. Which doesn’t really help us much.”
He turned to regard the gaping hole that had been their house’s foundation. Water spurted uselessly from broken pipes, gouged by enormous claw marks.
DP FICTION #5: “Not a Bird” by H.E. Roulo
22 hours ago