Golden

21| A Stabby Shell, You Are

21| A Stabby Shell, You Are

"Woah, you're actually eating the buffet breakfast this morning?"

Elijah's voice came from behind me, and by the time I tilted my head to look, he was off to my left side, a few feet away from the table I'd sat myself at in the little dining hall.  A window seat in the corner that looked out towards the beach, and the ocean.

He was standing there, holding that camera he'd had for the past few days. I assumed it was his replacement for the seagull-camera incident. Though, I wasn't a camera expert, this new one he had looked like a video camera. Something older. I couldn't imagine it took great quality footage, but I guess I wasn't the one who was into photography and shit. I hadn't a clue about technology. Let alone the differences between cameras.

"Not such a Michelin-star breakfast, is it?" he joked.

"You know," I said, taking a bite of the incredibly mediocre bacon, "it's not the worst."

Elijah stepped forward, and like the selfish man he was, grabbed a piece of my bacon. And then ate it. Right in front of my face.

His nose crinkled. "Honestly, though?" He started slowly backing away to grab himself an empty plate. "It has nothing on your bacon."

I rolled my eyes while Elijah smiled and spun around. I watched him take a plate and proceed to start from the beginning of the buffet, piling in a mix of pretty much everything. Scrambled eggs, bacon, a little bit of sausage, pre-made waffles they had sitting out, and more. I reverted my attention away from him as quickly as I remembered I compared his arms to fucking candy bars.

Elijah and his plate smacked down in the chair right across from me, joining me for breakfast, which I gave him a weird look for on purpose.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "We're basically besties now."

I laughed. "Besties? You think?"

He nodded and shoved a forkful of eggs and bacon into his mouth. I found that no matter the man sat across from you at a table, he would still find a way to give you a slight ick just by chewing his food.

"I was thinking friendship bracelets might be in store," Elijah said in between bites, drinking his orange juice as if it was a chaser for the food on his plate.

"Yeah, well. I'll go find a seashell on the beach that reminds me of you, and you can find one that reminds you of me!" I exclaimed, playing along with the very obvious joke going on. I didn't mind it.

"Ooh, that'll be perfect, actually. I think I could totally find a shell that represents you."

"Could you, now?"

Elijah nodded. He freed his hands so that he could try and describe to me his mental picture: "A small shell, doesn't matter the color." He winked. "But ... it's gotta have lines that circle around its entire body, and then on the top of the shell are these pointy spikes that also have tiny, smaller points made of shell all over them."

I raised my eyebrows. "And why is that me?"

"Because," he sipped his juice, "you're a shell that everyone has to be really careful when grabbing, otherwise they'll probably get stabbed. A stabby shell, you are."

I had to give it to him on that one. It was pretty accurate. My laugh indicated that for him, mostly because I couldn't hold it back.

"True enough," I admitted. "Why the lines, then?"

"'Cause you always throw me for a loop," Elijah said, and he knocked his fists on the table twice, clapped his hands together, mimicking a drum set. "Ba-dum tsssss!"