The Tower

Gazing up at the water tower he wondered where he had gone wrong. It seemed like yesterday he had stood in the same welcoming gravel. Though he was much older, and one may say wiser, the odd green tower stood ominous as it always had. The day had just started and nothing could be said for where he was going, or where he had come from. He felt that being here, in this exact spot, would somehow jolt a memory, an epiphany of sort. He had plotted for days, searching with no aid of map or spoken word to find this one childhood piece of glass that hadn’t shattered along with the rest. Finally found, and yet nothing returned. He wonders whether it is his own mind blocking his earlier years, or something else. It was strange; any such thoughts just seemed to fester, then fade….

“ What brought me here pooch.” His only companion, a mutt he shared a common resting place not a week past, looked at him, then the tower, then back to the crickets hopping throughout the golden soil. The ground looked familiar, yet somehow different.

“Rocks. There were more rocks here.”
The smallest glimpse of a thought pops into his head, then squeezes itself out faster than that of its arrival.

‘I’m standing, there.’ He thinks, and quickly shuffles to the spot, ‘and I’m holding, a, a rock.’ He begins urgently searching for a rock. What he finds is a gray and white beauty, perfect for skipping,’ I throw the rock, at, at the tower!’
His voice is rising, the level of excitement is quickly growing in his mind. He hasn’t felt this alive in months. Before he heaves his only solid friend, he feels the slightest bit of remorse for letting go a piece of natured beauty. He decides to throw it anyway. Following the trajectory he watches the rock fall to the ground, probably never to be touched again.