Skipping Stones
His record was six. Granted, that was on a clear day when the surface was like glass. This time, however, there was just enough of a breeze to send a barely perceptible, gentle roll along the water’s surface. The best he could manage today was three, and it certainly wasn’t from a lack of trying. He had been out there so long, in fact, that he no longer noticed the burning numbness as the lactic acid built up in his forearm. He just stood there, tossing stone after stone, watching them skip across the lake until they disappeared in the murky water. “It’s getting dark,” a voice called from behind him. “I know.” “How long are you going to stand there and throw rocks?” “Until I figure it out,” he replied shortly. “Figure what out, man?” “Life.” With an audible sigh, his brother turned and went back inside. There was no arguing with him when he was like this. He was stubborn, just like their mother, God rest her soul. When he got something on his mind there was...