The Tale of a Small Rock

Once upon a time, there was a rock.

It wasn't much of a rock, it knew that. As it lay there by its little stream, it knew it didn't have much to look forward to in life. The rock figured it might as well be happy about this, being what it was. Truth be told, it wasn’t a bad existence for a rock. The mud in which it lay was reasonably pleasant, and it had more than a few other rocks nearby for company.

Then, one day, something extremely unusual happened. Someone picked it up and stuffed it in some kind of leather bag. Not having a mouth to protest, the rock could only lie there in silent flinty outrage.

It wasn't alone, it noticed. It seemed to be accompanied by other rocks. How many, it couldn't tell. The bag was moving too, bumping against somebody's side, and beyond it there seemed to be some sort of very large crowd. The rock wondered (as much as a rock of its size could wonder anything) what was going on.

Next thing it knew it was out of the bag and being whirled around very fast, and the next thing after that it was flying through the air! For one blissful moment it was weightless and free, free to fly, to go anywhere, to be, to live-

With a loud thud, the rock slammed messily into living tissue.

Oh dear, it thought. That didn't sound good at all.

As the massive head into which it had just been slung toppled toward the ground, shortly to be sundered from its body by a large sword, the rock thought to itself that, overall, this had been the most interesting day it had ever had.

Note:

This story was written for Scoot ‘s Flash Fiction Friday prompt:

I decided to take a literal approach, and write from the POV of a rock. Specifically, the rock David launched at Goliath in 1 Samuel 17. One must admit, if that rock isn’t cool, no rock is.