"How many times can my stone skip?"

Erl curiously thought.

In his past time, most of the time, he would be by the pond which was situated in the wilderness outside the ruins. Here, he would skip stones, or simply throw unassuming pebbles into the tranquil pond.

The pond was large enough to be able to skip stones, and dark enough to engrave fear to curious children. Yet, here was Erl's usual spot to spend the rest of his time everyday.

He was not bothered by the darkness of the pond, which even the fiercest gazes could not pierce into; or even by the unpertubed surface of its water no matter how much things he throws at it - it never made such thing as a ripple; nor was he concerned about how eerily the pond seems to gaze into his deepest soul.

Everything about the pond was, for him, calming. His place of solace. In this god forsaken dark world, a dark pond was his place to be.

He had discovered this place by stumbling out from stone ruins that were supposedly towering walls that protected their home. Out there, the pond was behind thick and thorny bushes. To venture far outside the ruined walls was something his father has forbidden.

But here he was once again.

"Shucks, I guess I do not have talents in stone skipping."

Erl muttered after he reluctantly threw his least favorite pebble into the lake.

"But where does my stones go? I am not even sure if it is in the pond anymore."

By the pond he sat, he has thrown countless stones into the lake by now since the time he had discovered the lake when he was 9: and so entertained the thought of jumping into the pond countless times.

Although he did not know how to swim, a silly thought otherwise. Considering that the pond explicitly showcased many times that it can gobble up anything without living any evidences. He could disappear without notice if he would ever dive into the dark unknown of the pond.

Still, after all these years, his favorite stones have been running low. He felt that throwing anything more would be a waste, since not even his stone skipping skills nor the unpertubed surface water of the pond were changing.

"My precious stones..."

He had grown attached to it afterall, the stones, the pond, and him; these were all there were in this place. And anything that was thrown into the lake seems to be gone forever, sent to wherever the depths of the pond go. He could just feel it.

The thought that the tranquility of the surface of the water hides more than it's depths consumes a part of his soul every time.

"Well, whatever. Time to go home before my father kill me."

He steadily brushed past the thick bushes, careful to not leave any gashes because of its thorn to not be nagged by his father. Pacing through the ruins became his everyday exercise. Jumping over boulders, crouching below obstacles, and squeezing tightly between columns of stones that still had not collapsed.

After all these years, it had became easy for Erl to enter this ruined grounds. He had memorized every possible routes he could take; the fast and most secure way, or even a shortcut, albeit it could mean tons of rock falling down onto him if he would ever take a wrong step. Still, he did not have any reason to take such path. So he was always taking the most convenient and rather fast route - one he was the most used to.

He had gone home without having a scratch on his exposed skin, saving him from a minute or two of nagging.

There in front of his eyes was his humble abode. A modest bungalow which was made up of stones. Despite the fact that it was slowly catching up with time -- having moss running up its walls, weathering it -- it has still comfortably accommodated his father and him throughout the years.

He steadily approached the wooden door. Written on his face was an expression from which you could tell going back home was the least thing he wanted. Still, he had to go back.

He grabbed the knob, and turned it. But before he could put a step inside, a voice interrupted the creaking sound of the old wooden door.

"Erl."

Erl flinched.

He went inside before carefully closing the door behind him without looking back. In front of him was a gaunt man in his late thirties, looking back at him with eyes devoid of light, he had the black hair with early streaks of white strands. The man was no one other than his dad.

"Dad"

His dad studied from the very top of his rarely combed hair down to his rugged and overused boots. Not that there was anything strange on him, still, it always made him uncomfortable.

"I won't ask about where you have gone to, as long as you promise me that you won't go out the ruins."

Erl gulped and shifted.

"Dad, I have been always telling you, I am not going outside the ruins, nor even near it! You don't have to tell me every time I go back home, you know?"

His had not missed a day of reminding him not to step outside the ruins every time he catches him coming in. That was why he was careful not to be seen coming back home. So what he have had always done was to go back home earlier than his dad.

"I am just out there, plus, not like there are any thing interesting things inside the house. So I ought to breath fresh air."

His father looked him in the eyes. A cold sweat ran down his back as he sensed a foreboding within the gaze.

"That is what you have been always saying to me all these years, but you are not good at that."

"...Good at what?"

"Lying."