Gone with the Ripples

Chem stayed at the seashore oftentimes in the afternoon. His favorite spot was on a big rock that looked like an oval couch surrounded by black sands with small rocks, dolomite stones, and some seashells. He would sit on it and throw stones to the waves until the tide touched his feet riding worn-out slippers holed under the heels. Each listless stroke, which turned into barely visible ripples, had a tinge of desperately seeing Pete. His frequent sojourn had started the day after Pete went missing. He had been thinking that his brother wasn't dead and that he would someday return to the village, to him and their mother. The ties they had were undoubted. They were inseparable.

Could Pete really be dead? A question that would always pop in my mind whenever I saw Chem.