Just a Stone

 

 

Just a Stone   An excerpt from: The Game.                 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Jacob tumbled the stone he had found in his hand.  It seemed very much like those he had found in the stream behind his grandfather’s house, small enough to be concealed within his grip.  His fingers moved about its smooth shape.  Smooth so very smooth, as if polished like the rocks his Uncle Harold had.  Rocks that spent weeks rumbling around inside noisy machine his uncle used.  Yes, this stone was as smooth…but different.  Jacob’s finger moved over the stone’s cool dry surface.  Not that it always felt dry.  Times he had noticed it seemed damp…even slimy…slippery, difficult to hold.  Other times it wasn’t cool at all.  On occasions it might be pleasantly warm, but times Jacob could scarcely hold his precious treasure, as it grew quite hot.  Sometimes the smooth hard stone became cold.  More than cold!  It seemed to draw the warmth out of his hand.  Those times Jacob would stare at that stone, as he felt the cold crawl up his arm, stiffening his elbow, slithering toward his shoulder. Pain took hold of him then.  Jacob wanted to throw away the stone or at least allow it to fall, but he didn’t.  Gritting his teeth he would move the stone to his other hand, the effect there the same.  Then a moment later the cold ceased.  It was after all nothing more...

than a stone.

 

 

(230 Words)