Lighthouse of the Desert

Rising forth from the mud and stone of the sea floor, an edifice strikes out at the darkness. Appearing as nothing more than a community of snowflakes, standing strong against black waters and crushing pressure.

There is snow, but it's marine snow. Crumbs from the top table that fall from sunlit realms, dragged downward by the night. There are stars, but they are brittle stars. A squirming handful of arms, each with a thousand feet. There are flowers, too, but they are sea lilies. Feathers held high on long stalks, like carnivorous palm trees waving in the breeze.

This tower is a home. Sparkling, white walls permit entry to the tiny. One couple will stay and grow too big to escape. A wedding, but a shrimp wedding. A home, but a living one. A crystal prison and a fortress against the wet, desert wasteland.

I'm Venus Flower Basket and I approve this message.