What now? Nothing but the rock, of course. There was a bit too much focus on the artist/sculptor in the past few chapters. We can’t forget that this story is about the rock. No matter how far the story may steer away from the rock, it is the anchor. If this story was a boat, then the rock would be weight keeping it in the same general area, not matter how much the waves and weather tried to sweep it away.

The rock sat peacefully on the ground. Going nowhere. Nothing happened. The wind gently caressed it. The pebbles and dirt supported it from below. Occasionally, a tiny bit of water would splash onto the rock from the river. Before it could build up enough to make a wet spot, it would evaporate from the sun bearing down on it. A few red spots could be seen on the rock, remnants of the paint spilled by the artist/sculptor and something else...

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Blood! Not really. It’s more of the rock’s composition granting it a few reddish impurities. A bit of alkali and/or iron in it. The rock wasn’t purely one element; it was a mutt. Except, being a mutt isn’t so bad for rocks. Even diamond, a rock often deemed valuable due to marketing schemes, could be made several times more valuable if it has an impurity that changes its color. The rock’s composition gave it a dull gray color with an occasional red tinted spot. However, it was, by no means, valuable.

One couldn’t judge the rock by just its mineral value. Well, one could, but shouldn’t. The rock is what this story is about. If you undervalue it due to its composition, it’ll get depressed and get plastic surgery. At that point, could we even call it a rock? The story would be ruined for everyone.