Illicit Wanderings

A one shot story that probes the mind and inspires more questions than answers.

The boy moved briskly along the quasi-frozen turf, stepping gingerly amidst dagger-like blades of icy grass.  Toward the well he went, though it had run dry years ago.  Holding the rope for balance he peered into its seemingly bottomless darkness echoing a faint howl from the frigid breeze as it swirled downward in a maelstrom.

"I wish to leave this place."

It was almost a ritual that he visit this dry well and tell it his wish.  "There isn't anything for me here but cold."

Distracted for a second as a pair of lonely headlights rounded the bend and slowly made its way through the adjacent wood he peered up at the sky, a dreary grey that hadn't changed in... well, just about forever, as far as he was concerned.  "I haven't found what I had hoped for," he muttered to the well.  "I don't think it was ever here.  What should I do?"

Leave this place, then he half expected the well to respond.  If it suits you, leave without another word.  Why bother me with this senseless dribble?

"There's no one else to tell.  There hasn't been a soul here in ages," he replied as if the question had in fact been uttered.

Are you lonely?

"Not particularly.  I don't mind being alone.  I just wonder about purpose."

Bah.  What is purpose but a rationalization for existence?  Why did you come here in the first place?

"To get away."

Away from what?

The boy pondered this for a moment.  People?  Life?  The status quo?  "Everything, I suppose."

And how is that working out for you?

"Well, it would seem.  But there's something missing..."

The well in his mind gave a sigh in the form of a rushed breeze that shifted direction and sheared the descending winds within its bowels.  You're still here.

"What?"

Part of what you ran from was yourself.  Think about it.  Who felt the way you feel?  You.  Who thought the things you thought?  You.  You struggle against your own wishes because they do not match what you really want, or really feel.  You can run to Antarctica, the Sahara, or Indonesia; it won't make a bit of difference because you'll always be there, wherever you are.  Now, what do you do?

"What does that all mean?"

It means you're f*****g crazy.  You're talking to a well for Cripe's Sake.

The boy abashedly winced.  "Yes.  I suppose I am crazy.  That would explain why I wander these woods naked in the freezing cold.  But why can't I leave?"

Another sigh preceding, the well responded simply:

Because you're dead.

Reviews

[Kit]

wow, the love way this story is moving. It has that suspension that can be hard to obtain in writing. Your beginning was definatly a strong point for me, it was the hook that drew me in. and the ending was GREAT! I love leaving a story like that, or a chapter it just seems to draw a reader in more! A writer after my own heart!

[Jacqueline]

This had a "Sixth Sense" sort of feel to it, but the outcome was more rewarding here. You make the reader see the images as if watching a movie as your crisp and slightly dark story unfolded. I kind of grinned at the well's "sigh" and imagined a cranky, animated well drolly going through the motions with this boy. Great story that had me to the end.

[Snow White Queen]

This is really good. I kind of assumed the boy was dead, but the imagery is really lovely. Good write & a good read. ♥