The winkle

Well, I said I would be posting something when inspiration struck me - didn't think it would take this long. I have finally written something, so thought I'd post it...

A small boy on a beach ran to me last week and gave me a winkle. A winkle, such a strange and sad little object. I shook and then brushed the sand from it. Poor creature, I thought.
I took the shell and listened but I could not hear the sound of the sea blowing from within. Instead, I fancied I heard crying. Yes, there was a dry sob, sob, sob coming deep from within.
So strange. I immediately wished to smash the shell, to dash it on the deck like a greedy gull, but fought the urge. One thought was playing in my head, like a record, jumping and stuck on the same syllables; like a drifting soul song trapped in purgatory. "Plant me."
"Plant me," it spoke.
"Plant me."
So I did. I scrabbled in the dirt, tossing the clods and broken earthworms aside. In my bluster I'd chopped these worms in half or worse. No matter, I thought - they'll grow anew. Regeneration you see - I'm creating new life and new worth.
Dropping the shell into the moist hollow I carefully recovered the jumble of soil and cloven earthworms, imprisoning the gentle winkle.
And then I waited. I waited for it to grow.
And the rains came and the sun shone down and the winds blew the blossom from the boughs. All seemed but in requiem to the sad little shell.
The thought dawned upon me, smiling grimly, spreading icily across my body like electrical current. I had not planted, but had rather buried the poor creature. Now, beneath the dying pink flowers, it was lost to me.
I must be mad, I thought. Really, I must now be insane.