I woke up sitting on the shore of an island. A lonesome island situated in the middle of an endless stretch of water. The water was calm and clear; however, it was so deep that nothing was visible inside, except for endless gloom. Then I noticed bent-over people roaming around the shore, sometimes listlessly and reluctantly, and sometimes frantically, while looking meticulously at the pebbles.

They would sometimes stop and pick up one of the pebbles. At first, they would smell it, and then they would listen to it. Some of them dropped the pebble and, being displeased, continued with their search. The others, being relieved, took out another pebble from their pocket and flung it aimlessly. Subsequently, they put the new pebble in the same pocket and sat on the shore until they fell asleep.

I reached into my pockets, there was nothing in them. I had no idea what they were looking for in those pebbles. I thought to myself they must know something that I do not. My curiosity was increasing by the minute. I eventually got up, but before I could bend over and start looking, someone put their hand on my shoulder. I turned to them.

He was a boy just like me. He had been clenching his fist so hard that his fingers had turned white. Without saying a word, I pointed at his fist. He just kept staring at me, paying no attention to my gesture. Suddenly, he tightly embraced me. He had a pleasant smell and I could hear his heart racing.

I do not know how long it lasted. It seemed long to me, yet I believe it was brief. When he let go of me, he brought his fist forward and opened it; nothing was in it. He grinned, slowly took a few steps back, turned, and then rushed towards the water. Stunned, I watched him run until he abruptly stopped. Maybe he wanted to look back, but he did not. He swiftly took the last remaining steps and leapt into the water.

Moments later, the water was calm again. I gazed upon the water for a while but found no further sign of him. I am not sure if the bent-over people did not notice any of these events, or they simply did not care; since they were still busy scrutinising the pebbles without the slightest reaction. I strolled to the edge of the water, took a deep breath, and started walking along the shore.

I had walked for a day before I stopped. I had a look at the pebbles and chose one, then I bent over and picked it up. I tried to smell it, nothing. I held it next to my ear, still nothing. Unlike the bent-over people, I decided against dropping the pebble, so I put it in my pocket. Not feeling sleepy at all, I resumed walking, trying a new pebble with each passing day. …

… I put another pebble in my pocket and looked around. I had arrived at the exact same spot where I had woken up. I reached into my pockets and took out all the pebbles. I counted them; they were eleven. I dropped them on the ground and glanced at the shore one last time. The same bent-over people, the same process, nothing had changed. I took a deep breath and leapt into the water.

The water, the smell, the sound, what a familiar feeling! All this time, I was no more than a few steps away from “That”. A distance which took eleven days for me to cover. The past lost its meaning. I no longer felt alone. The bent-over people sometimes approached the water; yet they could not see anything inside, except for endless gloom. I was so weary that I had no time to feel sorry for them. It was time for me to sleep.