top of page
  • Writer's pictureWojciech Salski

Rolling Stone

Updated: Apr 28, 2021

I wasn’t climbing, I’m too scared of it, and don’t really fancy crashing my head against a piece of rock.

I looked at the hill, following the trail of my friends ropes hanging loosely from one boulder to another.

I wasn’t climbing, I’m too scared of it, and don’t really fancy crashing my head against a piece of rock. No thank you, I’ll stay I thought, looking at their, little in comparison to the size of the hill, bodies, as they made their way higher and higher. Their moves – controlled, their pace – slow, they continued the struggle, which to me seemed nothing but pointless, but who am I to judge anyway…? I sat down on my backpack and looked around the landscape. Cloudless sky provided us with almost a 360 view, presenting the panorama of the nearby natural park. I gazed in the distance, thinking of everything and anything, trying to come up with a different ending to the story, I’ve been writing for so long. I felt lost. Sometimes it happens I thought to myself, flipping through the pages of my small notepad, which I often used for making notes and writing down random thoughts, that later on could be considered worthy of putting into creative writing of mine. I looked at the page. Blank, empty, as if lacking in value – she stared at me, holding my gaze until I couldn’t resist and looked away. I felt scared. Not knowing what to write like no knowing what to do, can be a hard place to find oneself in I thought and nodded, trying to excuse my indolence with this statement, that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Looking back up at my friends, I listened to the sounds around me. I felt like there is not much one can do, when they get stuck. Especially with writing. You either go forward or scrap the whole page I contemplated my options. Well… I guess you could also scrap the whole work I added. My shoulders dropped, alongside the back of my neck, which at the times of stress seemed to push itself forward, as if trying to force my prayers. But I didn’t want to pray… I was too tired of it. No more quick fixes, easy ways out or advisory from others I demanded of myself it is your writing and it is your responsibility to deal with. Not knowing how to deal with the feelings, which emerged I closed the notebook for a moment and looked back up again, checking if my friends are still there. They were. Farther than before, seemingly smaller, less significant, reminding me of small monkeys that make their way up the buildings in Bangkok, whenever someone decides to set a romantic dinner on one of the balconies, not knowing what it is to come, in a matter of minutes. I smiled briefly, thinking of all the screaming ‘brides to be’ and ‘travel amateurs’ that have been jumped by the monkeys that way, caught with ‘their pants down’, as the meal was ready and perfect… One of my friends waved to me and tried to shout, but awkwardness of the position, made his communicate into more of a ricochet, which struck against the stone wall and fell down the slope, reaching my ears only with a partial comprehension. A little stone, fell with the words and rolled down the hill, landing nearby and continuing its rushed trip to the bottom of the world. I looked down, as the stone fell next to me and stopped, shivering with fear of heights. You must hate it here I said in hope that the newly arrived, would spare me a few words. But the stone, stayed silent, like a stone should. I shook my head in disappointment, arguing with my own mind, whether or not this stone is trying to communicate with me, and arriving to the conclusion that I’d sooner go insane, that the stone will start to speak, I kicked it with anger towards the ridge. His scream echoed the cave of my mind, as it fell, without going back. I instantly felt sick. Sick of this trouble of finding the right words, sick of the constant feeling of failure and disappointment… Sick of being alive. I sat back down, shuffling my backpack between my legs and leaving the notebook on the side. I thought of the stone, and how it resembled my present situation. I was stuck. Not knowing what to write can be a hell of a pain I sighed especially, when you do not know what the end should be like… My thoughts raced like hounds sprinting through the woods during the morning hunt for the rabbits and foxes of this world. I shuffled in my seat and looked towards the edge, where the rock went. Human life does sometimes feel like a falling stone I concluded and remembering the popular song, by one of the American artists I added like a rolling stone. I guess it is quite the same with writing our stories I pondered you know your intentions to begin with, you try to adjust the words to their use, and soon enough you arrive at the place, where only improvisation and adaptation comes into play. But the fall has already started, and rolling down the slope, your story, like your life, gains in speed and more than not gets chucked into a new direction without your control. And that’s how it goes, slowing down sometimes, only to gain in speed again a moment later. Until you’re dead. I didn’t like my thoughts too much, but I had to give them a bit of credit. Wondering if that’s what Bob Dylan meant by singing about himself, as a ‘rolling stone’, I got up and approached the edge, looking down in search for the stone, I so hatefully kicked there a few moments ago. As it could be expected it was nowhere to be found. I did kick it quite strong I thought, reasoning with my hesitation and hope that it could have gotten stuck on some small ridge, or stone floor a few meters beneath the level of the hill I was occupying. Feeling sick of myself, I thought of what my life has been so far. I thought about the decisions, emotions and outside factors that have adjusted my area of the fall, and pondered how much of what’s happening with me right now is decided by me, rather than by the incline of the slope and the weight of my stone heart. Wrestling with my conclusions, I stepped closer to the edge. I reached into my pocket and drawn out the photo of myself, accompanied by another ‘rolling stone’, which participated for some time in my life – my girlfriend. I looked at the smiling faces of ours, so innocent, so clueless of what life really is, so joyful in their ignorance, and felt like this blank page, that I was trying to fill out, empty and with no way out, only forward, by skipping a few or back by throwing out the notebook. I looked down into the abyss, where the clouds met the heights of our climbing endeavour and pondered about the rolling stones, life and my writing. Listening to what my mind had to say, I made up a grim smile and felt my body tilting forward, similarly to the page in the book, which tries to go back to its place, after you’ve raised it flipping onto the next. My throat felt sore, my eyes moist, my head heavy. I raised my gaze, staring into the sun, waiting for some explanation, a way out of this miserable state, but there was none to find. I nodded in understanding, my mind mindless, my body weightless, my breath too short to be considered one. My heart raced as I surrendered to the force of gravity, letting my body tilt towards the end a little more. My scream bounced of the floor and ricocheted down the slope, leaving my friends clueless, still hanging on their ropes and hooks. Myself, I didn’t really feel much at that point. It’s hard to say if there was anything, I felt at all. The roll became the fall and soon enough worries about the end of my story quietened. The world continued its turns, the stones kept rolling down the slope, the ending still unknown.


I would have heard that they did not find much. Must have been quite a fall I would probably think, smirking to myself, as I did. Maybe I should have left a note, an explanation I would have worried, but I worried no more. Left on the side of the ridge, they found a photography with two young, smiley kids, who in their happiness, did not have a clue how much their lives resembled a bunch of rolling stones, rushing down the slope, without control.

Also check out my poetry on Instagram:

Wojciech Salski (@writtenbyw.salski) • Zdjęcia i filmy na Instagramie

#rollingstone #creativewriting #poetryprose

5 views0 comments

Related Posts

See All


bottom of page