Unpredictable

We are walking on the shore of a beach, a windblown and deserted place, where the Atlantic Ocean's foaming tongue licks the stones and pebbles, polishing and punishing them, slowly wearing them down to sand. Without taking her eyes off the gulls wheeling overhead she bends slightly and picks up a medium sized, perfectly rounded stone, black and dense, just like any one of the dozens lying at our feet. See, she says, look how they're all the same, juggling it between her hands, you take one stone, you look at its shape, feel its weight in the palm of your hand...you can feel its cold hardness with your fingertips. Is there anything else to know? No... now you know everything about this stone, and everything about every other stone on the beach, how they tumbled and stumbled over each other and were carried in by the tides, worn down and shaped by the waves. Life's like that, she said, you don't have to guess what's going to happen, just look at the cycles... nothing ever changes? It's all lies...you experience something once and it's the same every time afterwards... It's so predictable,
She lazily drops the stone, which immediately becomes indistinguishable from its equals carpeting the sand.
I found a curved, flat stone amongst a small column of rocks that a previous walker must have constructed, and crouching down level to the sea I let the stone fly from my hand as low and fast as I could. It skimmed out over the water, bouncing and skipping several times before disappearing into the sea. That's what life's like, I said, you can't be sure how far you'll fly or where you'll fall...You can throw the same stone a hundred times and it will always have a different destination... It's unpredictable...