A boy

Walks on the beach

He looks for skipping stones

They all look the same to him, smooth and flat

He begins reaching for them indiscriminately. each one's muffled collision in the bottom of his deep pocket reverberates like teeth that have nothing to chew on.

The rocks

Are motionless

They do not have thoughts like the boy does

Their placement in the boys spacious pocket has no effect on their immortal life

The boy carries as many as he can yet the beach remains just as bountiful, the stones just as numerous.

The water

Is waiting

It beckons in rhythmic swells

Even now its patent motions crumble the land and cast it across the endless floor beneath

It is consumed by its task of guiding everything it touches gently and kindly into the darkness.

The boy

walks forward.