The little stone

Anna Manhal

by Anna Manhal

Story

When she was walking down that rocky, old road she suddenly spotted a stone that was different from any stone she had ever seen before. It wasn’t the stone with the smoothest surface and neither the one that sparkled the most in the evening sun. It was quite the opposite. It had a rough surface, which consisted of different shades of gray and its shape could remind you of a heart. Now, some would have thought it was ugly, but the girl saw it differently. She picked it up and gently ran her thumb around its little curves and edges. Something about it made her feel understood and the thought, some people could not be able to see the stone like she did, suddenly made a shiver run down her spine and made her heart ache just a little. How could people find the little stone ugly or even disgusting when it was just extraordinary and remarkable in her eyes? All of a sudden, the girl felt something wet and warm on her cold cheek. A tear. Why did the thought of all this make her feel so miserable? Why was she sorry for the little stone? A bit of time passed during which she was just staring at the imperfect but yet so wonderful stone in her hand. Then, she looked up and at her surroundings. The trees, blowing in the wind, the birds, each singing their own song, the flowers, some withered, some that haven’t even bloomed yet, and even the little ants crawling past blades of grass, which must seem gigantic and dangerous from their point of view. That’s when the girl noticed she had stopped crying. The salty tears were drying on her cold cheek, only leaving a little salty crust behind, and her once so dark and sad eyes were lighting up. Her lips started forming a smile.



















© Anna Manhal 2024-06-25

Genres
Novels & Stories, Anthologies
Moods
Emotional, Reflektierend, Traurig