Iggy, an igneous rock with a heart of stone (quite literally), wasn't sure how he’d gotten there. One moment, he was just... being, and the next, he found himself nestled at the bottom of a rushing river. Time, for Iggy, was a peculiar thing. Years could vanish in the blink of a geological eye, while the sudden jolt of a clumsy foot tripping over him could stretch into an eternity of sensation. So, when he says he spent "some time" in the river, it was likely centuries.

The relentless current was a patient sculptor, gradually smoothing Iggy's rough edges, transforming him from a jagged chunk of rock into a polished, unassuming pebble. Then, the water began its slow retreat. First, Iggy's top emerged, then more and more of him, until finally, the riverbed was dry. In what felt like mere moments to Iggy, a burst of life unfurled around him. Saplings spiralled skyward, their branches reaching for the sun, forming a dense, leafy canopy that Iggy came to cherish as his forest.

His tranquil existence was shattered one day by a heavy boot. A man, lost in thought, stumbled and tripped right over Iggy. A sharp crack echoed through the quiet woods, and a small fragment of Iggy broke off, skittering a few inches away. Iggy gazed at the detached piece and, in a way only a rock could, decided it was his pet. He named him Chip.

Many happy years passed. Iggy observed the tiny chip of himself, a constant companion in his peaceful corner of the forest. But then, a new shadow fell. A young boy, bright-eyed and curious, wandered by and, spotting Chip, picked him up. Iggy felt a pang of something akin to devastation, a deep, hollow ache in his ancient core. Chip was gone.

Days turned into seasons, seasons into years. Iggy missed Chip terribly. One afternoon, an old man, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, shuffled past, his hand clasped firmly in the smaller one of a young boy. "See this spot, son?" the old man began, his voice raspy with age. "This is where I found my lucky stone. The day I picked it up, my life changed. Met your grandmother, got that good job, bought the house... everything. Kept it all these years, just for myself, but now I think I'm lucky enough. And your dad, he's always been lucky, hasn't he? So, it's time to pass it on to you, Chip."

Iggy's solid form seemed to hum with anticipation. The old man reached into his pocket, his fingers fumbling for a moment before pulling out a small, smooth stone. It was Chip! The old man placed the "lucky stone" into the excited palm of his grandson, Chip. The boy looked down at his new treasure, then his gaze drifted to Iggy. His eyes widened. "Grandpa!" he exclaimed, "This stone... it looks like it fits right here!" He pointed to the jagged break in Iggy's side.

The old man squinted, then chuckled. "Well, I'll be. Never noticed that." With a gentle touch, the grandson placed Chip back into the missing piece of Iggy. An instantaneous torrent of memories flooded Iggy's consciousness – Chip's life with the old man, the joyous highs, the poignant lows, the slow, inevitable march of time, the laughter, the tears, the everyday moments that made up a human life. It was a gift, a panorama of existence unfolding within his unyielding form.

The grandson, eventually picked Chip up again. As the pair walked away, Iggy, in his own silent way, bid farewell to Chip. He wondered if the boy, now a part of Chip's continuing story, would ever return, perhaps bringing his beloved pet back to visit him once more.