Door

There was a knock at my door. When I opened it, there was an arrangement of rather ordinary large stones. Most were about the same amount of size as a grapefruit. “We would like haircuts,” they said. “But you don’t have any hair,” I said, trying to re-assure myself that this was not happening. “Yes, we know. But if you will just make the scissor sounds all around us as if you were cutting our hair then we will be satisfied.” I couldn’t tell which stone was speaking, but another one spoke up. “Those sounds remind us of our childhood,” it said. One by one, I began to bring them inside, and arrange them on the kitchen table. I have a little pair of shears that should do the trick.