I Am A Murderer

I have been collecting shells at the beach. I am going to make my sister and her girlfriend a Shell Jar (buy a glass jar, fill it with shells, voila! A Shell Jar). I only want the most perfect shells for the shell jar. Two of the most perfect, gorgeous shells I found had something living in them. Rather than flinging them back into the ocean and admonishing them to “LIVE!”, I picked them up, thinking sorry little suckers, you gotta die. And now I’ve been waiting . . . and waiting . . . for them to die and leave their shell-homes. My guilt over killing these little shell-beings is proportionate to the stink they are causing. It’s disgusting! Little gushy things are starting to come out of the shells. Ohhhhh it’s gross. One thing I can tell you is that I have learned from this experience. Never again will I bring a live thing home. I feel guilty! I feel like a murderer. What is this doing to my karma? I’m probably going to step on something sharp and infectious at the beach. I’m sorry, little shell gushies! Never again, ok?