A Folk Tale

"Everyone quiet down," the old man said with quiet authority. Around him sat kids from the village. With a long, spindly arm he hoisted a log into the fire in front of him, grunting with the effort. The children's eyes turned to saucers as sparks leapt into the cool night sky. A smile wrinkled his face, "Tonight I tell you a story. A simple story, yet one not easily understood. Some of you will understand it, and some of you will not. All I ask, is for each and every one of you to hold this tale close to your heart, for within it lies a simple truth."
The man cleared his voice and began in a whisper. "One day, at the river of wandering souls, a boy stood by the water's edge. He bent down and picked up a smooth rock, appreciating its texture in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it into the river. The rock shattered the river's surface, making a pleasing splash. Again, the boy took a rock in his hand and threw it into the river. This time, in the moment the stone left his hand, the boy reached out to stop the rock's journey. Unfortunately, he was too late, and the rock sunk into the river. The boy missed the feeling of the stone, so he grabbed yet another. Before he could begin to admire the rock, he became overwhelmed with the want to throw it in the river. Hearing that pleasing splash overtook the boy and he threw the rock again.
He repeated this cycle for days, which turned into months. He grew tired and unsatisfied with the singular splash the rocks made. He wanted more.  It was this desire that made him grab pebbles. The pebbles weren't nearly as smooth and didn't make as large of a splash, but he could throw many at once. The resulting splash was different from the larger stones and were therefore more entertaining... for now.
"As the months grew to a year, even the pebbles lost their luster. The boy became frustrated with the pebbles, he threw handfuls of them angrily into the river. That was when the pebbles ran out. Looking at the empty shore, the boy saw a singular rock remaining. It was smooth and almost identical to the first rock he had thrown. He picked it up, cocked his arm back to toss it, and stopped. An idea hit him. What if he kept the rock? He realized that by keeping the stone he could free himself of the river. The boy smiled and walked away, never to return."
The old man crossed his arms and leaned back. He watched as some of the confused expressions shifted into realization. His work here had come to a close.