There's a stick in my backpack. It's been there for two years.
Yeah, I know it sounds weird. But it's true.
I used to go to this weekly wilderness thing, where a group of kids would go hiking and learn how to make fire and eat leaves and such. There was this counselor there, Glenn, who claimed that he could "read sticks." In other words, he could touch a stick and feel its story. Or so he said.
The second week, I brought him a stick. He said that in it was two wizards, fighting. I brought the same stick back the next week, hoping to fool him, but he gave me the same answer.
Over the next year, I tried my best to make him slip up. I'd pretend to exchange the stick for another one, or pick it up off the ground and present it to him as a new stick
One day, Glenn didn't come. The other counselor said that he left because he moved. I still have the stick in my backpack, waiting for him. I like pretending that he'll come back one day.