Who wants to feel like a senseless murder weapon? If you do, then read on!
...And A Hard Place
I'm a rock.
I like where I sit, by this lovely river. I wouldn't have it any other way. I would just love to stay where I am, and one day become smooth and round enough to roll downhill. But the thumping might ruin everything.
If only the thumping would stop.
Starting under me, scaring the insects sleeping there. I can feel them squirm.
This could only be two feet, a running human. Four legs, fine, two legs, expect the worst.
If I had eyes, I would be glaring. Why couldn't we all be rocks? No one's ever seen two rocks fighting or running...or worse yet, chasing. We are at peace; so what if we can't move or speak? We just let everything else go about it's business. It's always us who are the victims here. Getting kicked, broken to bits, used as weapons, thrown, even bitten.
Yes, bitten! You know, because our hard bodies are delectable and great for your teeth.
I know by experience, and I feel disbelief rather than anger that I have been so rudely treated.
Speaking of, I can feel myself getting picked up now. A human hand; nothing else in my forest holds me this way.
I am smashed against what felt like a very soft other creature. Some other human, I guessed.
The sad part, if I have something to be sad about, is the familiarity of the sensations.
Warm sticky blood, breaking bone, vibrating screams and shuddering hot flesh.
I see not, I feel plenty.
This occurs every now and then. I usually get thrown afterwards, and that, coincidentally, is how I found myself up here. The hand seems tired and drops me, though, right back to where I was. The best thing to do now is to forget it ever happened; the rain will take care of the stickiness on me.
Besides that, it is all the same. The waters are as close and far away as before.
It doesn't bother me one bit.
I like where I sit, by this lovely river…