Morose

A story I wrote

Morose picks his way across the rugged banks of experience, that collection of sensation, emotions and decisions, which hugs the ever placid lake of thought. The lake ripples lazily in the bright morning sun, reverberating to the rhythm of an imaginary song, that if you listened closely enough you could hear it whispered in the wind. The lake gives no indication to the vision of horror the lake had been these past few days, when dark skies hung over head, whipping it into a frenzy of a storm.

Stopping in his tracks, Morose, stood gazing over the lake, with brows furrowed deep in thought. Finally stooping to pick a pebble no different from any other that lay littered across the lake’s edge, he studied its smooth grey surface; stroking the pebble tenderly as he traced its smoky whirly designs. Turning it around in his hand, Morose revealed a roughly etched ‘S’ made into the face of the pebble.

Bouncing the pebble in his palm, Morose turned to face the lake once more, tapping his feet to an unknown rhythm, before casting the pebble into the lake with an underhand throw. He watched the pebble skim across the surface of the lake, before it sank into the murky depths below, with a weary smile on his face, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "Damned you", he muttered to himself, as his gaze lingered on the ripples that had been created in the pebble's wake. 

Author's Note

P.S Yeah...the pebbles represent memory, each pebble a memory of a different time. Thought it apt, especially since pebbles have that strange whirly murky design.