Short story about abandonment A pet rock abandone
Short story about abandonment
A pet rock abandoned little boy (the owner)
The sun beat down on Timmy’s dusty red hair, making his face sweat in sticky streaks. He sat on the edge of the playground, his legs dangling uselessly, his eyes fixed on the chipped paint of the slide. He wasn’t interested in the slide, or the swings, or the sandbox. He was watching for him.
He had been waiting for hours. It was almost dusk, and his stomach grumbled with hunger. He clutched a smooth, gray rock, warm from the sun, in his palm. It was his rock, his friend, his confidant. They were inseparable, they went everywhere together.
Timmy had found the rock on the day his mother left. She had said it was for a new job, a better life, a chance for her to be happy. But all Timmy knew was the empty space she left in their tiny apartment, a space that no amount of cereal for dinner or cartoons on the television could fill.
The rock, which he’d named “Stony,” had been his solace. He told Stony everything, about his loneliness, his fears, his longing for his mother’s touch. Stony listened patiently, offering silent comfort with his smooth, cool surface.
Timmy, still waiting, felt a prickle of fear. He remembered his mother’s words, “Sometimes, Timmy, even the best friends have to move on.” His mother was gone, and now he feared Stony would be, too. Had Stony tired of him, of his constant sadness?
A small, brown bird perched on the railing near him, chirping nervously. “Stony?” Timmy whispered, his voice choked with fear.
The bird chirped again, then flew away. Timmy held his rock tighter. He knew it wouldn’t leave him, would it?
Suddenly, a shadow fell across him. He looked up and saw a group of older kids, their faces set in cruel smiles. They were bigger, stronger, and they always liked to pick on him.
One of them, a boy with greasy hair and a sneer, approached him. “Hey, little kid,” he sneered. “What’s that you’re holding? A rock? That’s pretty pathetic. You want a real friend, you should get a dog, or a cat, maybe even a goldfish. A rock? That’s just stupid.”
Timmy felt his face flush red. He closed his hand tighter around Stony, feeling the rough texture against his palm. It was his rock, his friend. He wouldn’t let anyone take it from him.
“Leave him alone,” a voice boomed behind them. A tall girl, her face set in a determined expression, stood behind the boy. The group of older kids seemed to shrink back, their laughter dying down.
Timmy looked up at her, his eyes wide.
The girl smiled. “Sometimes, Timmy, you have to be your own hero,” she said.
He looked down at Stony, who was warm and smooth in his hand, a silent, unwavering friend. He understood. He was not abandoned. He had Stony, and that was all that mattered. He had a friend, a rock, a friend that would never leave him, a friend who would always be there for him, even when everything else seemed gone.
