Old Rocks

“Whatcha got there, Cat?” Melody asked.

“Oh, this?” Catrina said, holding up a rock.

“Yeah. The only thing you’re holding.”

“It’s my rock. Just an old rock.”

“How old?” Melody said, stepping closer.

“A couple of million years, give or take.”

“Give or take what?”

“A few million.”

“Hm. Why do you have that old thing?”

“It’s a reminder,” Catrina said.

“A reminder of what?”

“That no matter how bad things are, the rocks will go on. They’re old. They’ve lived all our lives, and they’ll outlive us all. Even the ones we blast to gravel and drive over and destroy any which way we can, the rocks are still there, still going, while we live and die in less than a century.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Seems a bit silly to me.”

“I’m not surprised.”

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