A boy had come to an inner clearing of wood where a flowing river ran. He peered over his shoulder. The woods were grey with fog. He turned back and got down on one knee, his eyes glazed. He dipped his hand in the water and scooped some out. The water seemed black and old, as if it taken many years for it to come to this spot in the river. He put the water back. The ground around him was muddy yet firm. He sat down and dipped his feet in the river. The water was cold and empty. His gaze shifted to the ground next to him where he found a modest pile of tiny marbles. The marbles were all different colors. Some were speckled with bright colors, some were dull shades of earthy tones, and some were entirely translucent. He picked them up and examined them each individually. As he judged each one, he would do one of two things. If he did not like the marble, he would throw it in the river, condemning the marble to lay and stumble in the black fog of the water. If he considered the marble one of his favorites, then he laid it down on his other side. He did this one by one, looking at each marble for a very long time before finally deciding if it was worth keeping. Each distant splash thrashed with effort and ceased, ending as suddenly as it had begun. When the boy was done, he stood up in the increasing fog. He looked at the marbles next to him and bent to pick them up. The mud cracked and the marbles fell into the water. The boy froze and could not believe his misfortune. He stood back up and walked back into the woods. He looked back over his shoulder one last time across the river and saw a glint through the fog. A pile of tiny marbles on the other side.
Looking at marbles,
Marcus <3
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