Drafts

The Pebble

The pebble. This boring, gray thing. Much like a child. Rough and course in the beginning, but as the river flows, the pebble levels and softens, transforming into a beautiful jewel. Sometimes the river doesn't work the sediment the right way—it hurts the pebble. This poor creation then turns to hard iron, unforgiving to the river that torments it. This iron-rock will stay this way, frigid and solid, until something comes and plucks it from the river, warming it. This shard will, with time, soften back to the rough chunk, only this time, the entity will be there to make sure it smooths the right way.

This miniscule pebble, under the guidance of the Sentience, will grow into the magnificent summit it was meant to become, ruling over the raging rapids that tortured it so, and even grow above the infinite thereness of the thing that nurtured it. It will touch the moon, crowned by the stars. It will conquer the earth, ruler triumphant, by pain and sacrifice. But it will forever stay loyal to the Sentience, for the Sentience saved this unworthy pebble and turned it into a god.