C: Rock around the clock

The water washed noisily down the rock pools and crevices of the
granite shelf. Once, far behind now, these proud rocks towered upwards.
The shelf had been the foundations of mighty cliffs, that soared
majestically seventy feet into the wholesome air. Seemingly standing
firm against the constant onslaught of the sea. Now only occasionally
the battered bedrock of the shelf appeared, tamed and mocked by the
crests of the waves. The Allies of the water, seaweed and lichen
colonised the rock, keeping it from view and possible rebellion, solder
crabs and slippery eels marshalled the offensive. The granite laid
prostrate in fear of its inevitable end.

In the distance the retreated cliff stood at the ready for the next
tide, hunched and huddled together seemingly solid against the pitiful
water that fluidly taunted it. Approaching and then withdrawing,
taunting then teasing, hissing at the solidity of it's timeless foe.
And sitting on its nest half way up the cliff sat a seagull, tiny and
insignificant in the battle but watching, not the fight, the crabs and
eels who confidently celebrated their presence in the sea.

Swooping down and gaining speed the gull plummeted toward the shelf
under the sea. It scooped up an eel that writhed around, the beak
clamped down as it made ground.

Flying back to the grateful cliff, the gull hovered and landed in its
feathered nest. And for a moment the rock seemed to shake like a deep
seated chuckle of overpowering hate.