Well Water
He was sitting in the bottom of a deep and damp well, quietly whispering to himself because the echoing of his voice was too scary. Where did you come from? he questioned the walls. Why are you staring at me like that? he asked the cracks. Don’t laugh at me! he shout-whispered at the tiny, palm-sized puddles of water that hadn’t yet evaporated.
Before long, the thirsty cracks fattened and the puddles dried up. As the delirium set in from dehydration, he momentarily forgot his fear of reverberation and yelled at the concrete, Where are you going?! The dark grey walls roared back at him so violently he could feel his belly tingle and his inner ear hairs stiffen. He cried for the first time in 28 years, and once the tears began to flow, he couldn’t stop them. He imagined what it would be like to crawl into one of the widening cracks. He hoped if he sat in one long enough, his tears would be able to carry him along the crack’s undulating path, traversing up the well wall, all the way until he reached the top.
