A Hundred-Word just written on a whim. Did a paint an adequate picture? There's more to judge, should you like.

Richly green fronds form soft frames around the banks of the pond. Fed by dancing strings of flowing glass down polished rocky slopes, a healthy body is nurtured in earthen palm. Not bird or bug interrupts the ragtime tune of stream leaping off rocks into clear blue below.

Along the edge thumps a passerby. Short, yellow, otherworldly, and with a job to do. Nevertheless, water’s mirth pulls, work’s miasma repels, and soon enough the strange being has picked a flat rock into its plated hand.

Stone tossed into crystal with ambition, it doesn’t leap - but plunges.

The visitor sighs, “Shame.”