Sometimes you don’t pick your hobbies, they pick you. For the artist, the hobby picked him as soon as he picked up that metallic object. Then, put that way, it seems more like they picked each other rather than one picking the other. The object was a metal pick, as in a pickaxe. It was a smaller one, but it was still effective. A tool meant for breaking up rough ground and stones; it was the worst nightmare for something like the rock.

It was most likely a remnant of the bridge’s construction, lost or thrown away at some point during the process. Speaking of point, its point was still intact and sharp. Other than a little bit of rust, the tool was perfectly fine and ready to be used. The artist took advantage of this and slammed it against a nearby stone. It shattered satisfyingly. Laughter resounded through the area as the artist fell to his knees and started messing around with the shattered pieces of stone. A meaningless pile was created from the pieces that kept falling over.

The artist did not give up and picked up another stone. This one, he carefully chipped the outline of a shape on it before slamming down his pickaxe. However, like the first stone, it just shattered into incoherent pieces, none of them matching his mold. With an unwavering will, he searched for more stones to try this new hobby on. The artist had discovered sculpting, something that’s another form of art but one he wasn’t used to, but he had the desire to learn.

If the rock was alive, it’d be horrified by this scene of the Artist looking around for a stone to defile. What made things worse is that he was slowly coming closer and closer to the rock. Such a thing multiplied its non-existent fears. Eventually, the artist saw the rock and reached out towards it. The rock was a perfect candidate for this as it was the largest of its kind around, other than the boulder of course. However, the artist seemed to change his mind at the last second and chose a stone next to it.