Little Lily walked on something. She initially thought it was a pebble. But then wondered if perhaps it couldn't be a crab. It was getting dark and she couldn't see properly. The more she thought about it, the more she believed that it was indeed a crab.
And in her haste to get back to Mum and Dad, she walked on a sharp stone. That one was not a figment of her imagination. It was a sharp stone. And she had just walked on it. The crab was now completely forgotten. Unsure about what to do, she stood there and wailed.
When she is an old lady she will remember the pain, and the golden sensation of an evening late in spring, and the cold of the water like a blade on her ankles, and she will order crab claws for starters. And her Mum and Dad's ashes will be mingling with sharp stones in Dublin Bay.