He sat there by the river, slowly stroking the smooth surface of the stone and tried hard to remember good times, or at least better times. Things were different. He was different. The world was different. Everything he thought he knew was wrong. He turned the stone over and over between his fingers and paid no attention to the hard rain that bombarded the back of his head. He didn’t care. That was the least of his worries. The battle that raged inside his mind was all that mattered to him. He softly hummed a melancholy song. He knew the tune well, but could not recall a single lyric. He never could. He had listened to that song countless times when he needed to think, but had never actually listened to the words. It was the intensely solemn and sobering composition that constantly drew him back in when his mind decided it was time to contemplate life. He had become so conditioned by this that it took him some time to even realize he was humming that tune. It was this realization that made him remember what he was trying so hard to forget… he was alone.
I'm thinking about continuing this... what do you think?
