Stones: 200 Words Are Too Little

I hold stones in my hands and lucidly wonder where to cast them. Nine stones that decide all. One fire, one water, one wind, one earth, one skull. Death by nature.

One a bloody knife, one a cracked steering wheel, one a noose. Death by humanity.

The last I place in my pocket.

Blood, the color of my dreams, blackness, my heart.

Girl who acted as parent to friends? Old age.

Boy who lived with passion? Fire.

Girl who helped all? Water.

Boy who judged fairly? Earth.

Girl who was a tempest, always changeable? Air.

Kindred.

There were others.

Boy who made enemies everywhere? Murder.

Girl who was too careless? Accident.

Boy who killed for joy? Justice.

I look at the profile plate.

Aaron Shang, 13

There was a picture of him. Black hair, dark eyes, peach skin.

I skimmed my hands over the words:

Lonely. Help. Considering death.

Then I set the eight stones down and reached for the last stone.

I hid it because it was not a death. It was pearly with an angel.

I slip the stone into the groove where it is to be placed.

Living, read the inscription on the profile plate.

I smiled.