Then came along the man who had thrown the rock before. If the man knew he was being narrated in this way, he’d probably be crying tears of gratitude from being compared to the rock. Or he might be sad that we didn’t know his name and it’d be kinda creepy if he started talking to himself alone on the riverbank so we could know his name. Most likely, he wouldn’t care at all.

He kneeled down and started gathering water from the river with a canteen made of leather. As he got back up and dusted off his pants, he noticed the stones, pebbles, and the rock strewn across the beach. Might he have sensed that there was something about the rock that drew him to it?

Of course, there’s not actually anything special about the rock and the man picked up a stone right next to the rock instead. It’s almost like the man was a sadist who purposely chose stones near the rock. Maybe out of revenge for the author not bothering to give him a name. This man might be the antagonist of this story.

The stone that the man had chosen was shaped like a rectangular prism. It was long and flat with a few uneven layers to it. He held it between his thumb and fingers while rubbing the flat sides. If the rock and stone were human, the rock might have felt jealousy or rage towards the molestation and abuse towards his harem member.

The harem member—err stone—might have felt embarrassment or shame from such a display. But then all of a sudden, the man threw her—it—at the water with a flick of his wrist. Using her then throwing her away, how cruel. Thankfully, it’s just a rock and a stone, not real people.

The stone hit the water on its flat side and bounced once before sinking into the river. It was impressive and a nice break from the lack of events recently. But the man’s eyebrows scrunched up in frustration and he picked up another stone.

A few minutes later, another stone skipped across the water four times and landed on the opposite bank of the river. The man let out a primal grunt of excitement that exerted his dominance over the sport of stone skipping. He had accomplished his meaningless goal which, admittedly, is more meaningful than this story.

But now around ten stones from the rock’s harem had sunk to the bottom of the river. The only one that survived the endeavor—or at least didn’t end up in the water, since stones aren’t alive in the first place—is on the other side of the river. The rock on one side, the stone on another, like tragic lovers destined to never reunite.