Flint Tools Field Guide

Light. Dark. Light. Dark.

Dry. Wet. Cold.

Dry. Warm.

Time passes. I lie on my back looking up. The sky. Clouds pass. An ant scuttles over me.

A foot passes by. A bicycle tyre swishes past.

Time passes.

Then.

A hand reaches down. Fingers lever me up. Brush my surface. A finger tip runs along my sharp edge, testing.

An eyeball looms. Squints.

Tumbling into darkness. Enclosed. Bumping up and down, m--o-v--e-m-e--n-t.

Light again. Placed next to a book. The Flint Tools Field Guide. Fingers pointing. To me. To the book. To me. To the book. Voices vibrate the air.

Eyeball again. Peering. Appraising. Frowning.

Four heads above me, looking down at me, turning from side to side.

No.

Fingers pick me up again. I tumble through the air. Thud onto the dirt.

Just an ordinary flint. My shape is my own.

Rejected, I am free.

Light.

Dark.

Time passes.

🪨