One too many

Constance had a vast collection of memories, none of which were in her head, they were all in her stones: all one thousand three hundred and sixty-seven of them. Everywhere Constance went she picked up a stone to remind herself of that place. She found stones when she went camping, when she went ski-ing, when she went to castles (and those were probably from the castle itself and therefore very old), when she went abroad on holiday and even managed to find stones when she went to places that were indoors, like the skating rink or the swimming pool.
Constance was proud of her collection. She displayed each one prominently on shelves that skirted her room and polished and dusted them every day. If you were to point to any random stone Constance could easily recount everything that happened to her at the place that stone represented. For example she had a small, tan coloured quartzite stone that looked like an old eraser worn at the edges, that represented a trip to the cinema. Constance recalled that night with ease because it was the night she saw two kids a few years older than her get into a fight about a girl. They were stood a few people ahead of her in the queue so she could hear pretty much everything. At first they were bickering over who kissed the girl first, but the bickering quickly turned into a full scale fight when one called the other a 'big fat sissy'. Constance was fascinated and craned her neck over the melee of eager onlookers to watch the boys deliver swift, well-aimed punches to each other's body.
However, her mother felt differently about the collection of stones. She never seemed to tire of telling Constance that they belonged in the garden and not in the house. But one day, when Constance placed on her shelves a Jasper stone she found during a trip to the beach that had been smoothed by the lashing salty waves of the sea, she heard a strange groaning and creaking sound coming from the walls. It sounded like old, weak men bending bits of wood. Soon it was accompanied by a grinding sound, like stone blocks rubbing together, and then crunching and snapping like the sound twigs make when you step on them. Constance stood stock still listening to the strange and unnerving chorus and before she realised it her entire house-roof, walls, floor, furniture and all-tipped backwards. Everyone of her rocks slid off its shelf and landed on the floor. As the house tilted further and further toward the garden the rocks rolled across her bedroom floor into a pile beneath her bedroom window. Then with an almighty snap and smash her house landed on its back, crushing her mother's garden.
Constance was laid, like a starfish, against her bedroom wall that was now level with the garden and stared up at the empty shelves with mild frustration.
"Mum got her wish then!" she said, simply.