Dark Well

A little bird had told him that it was not safe to collect the water at night - it had tried to caution Jonathon, however, not being conversant in bird speak he had ignored the chattering, and persisted.

Jonathon had leaned into the well a little too far and when the wet pail had slipped from his grasp, and as he instinctively moved forward to catch it, he landed flat onto a cross beam some five foot down.

There was a crude fretwork of wooden beams holding the sides of the hole from collapsing, and Jonathon had managed to hold onto one above his head, whilst balancing on the wood beneath. The grimy footing was only inches wide.

He thought of Fatima, and of how he loved her so. It had only been a handful of weeks they had spent together, after she had found him at this very well, at a time when he had lost all direction.

He wished he was on the other side of its wall now. Frightened to move, lest he would slip down even further, he began to call out, even though he knew there would be no one to hear him. This community never ventured outdoors at night, as they were generally too vexed with whatever malady confined them there. He was, by their standards, the fittest amongst them. It would be a long cold wait until morning.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series