It sat there… peaceful; serene, even. The tide came in, washed off the loose, blown sand, then went back out. Pretty much like any other day, really. But the rock knew this day was different…
The young boy came over and stared at the rock, as he had done most days since that first day – the day they had started speaking to each other.
“Can we talk?” asked the young boy, his golden curls flying in the summer breeze. The plastic bucket and spade dangled from the fingers of one hand, the spade about to fall out and onto the sand.
“I’ve got to go away,” said the boy. “Auntie Sarah is better now and mum says we have to catch the train and go home.” He shuffled his bare feet on the sand, digging with his toes.
The rock said nothing. But it did look sad.
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