The Well

Two summers ago the water began to dry up in the well. It was all they had to drink, bathe and cook with. He couldn't look into her eyes without a deep sense of shame, as if the drying up of the well was his fault, was a failure of his as a man.

They began going to the homes of their neighbors which were some distance away, to ask for water. They would carry the precious buckets of water on their shoulders joined together by sturdy branches that could sustain the weight of the journey. They would arrive home sweating and exhausted, feeling as if they were cursed by God for some unknown trespass.

Each drop was precious, a divine gift to be cherished.

It continued this way for months. They could sense the pity of their neighbors through their charity. It was never spoken but, it showed through their eyes. Each look felt like a thousand suns burning his back in the fields, relentless and unending.

She never complained but could sense his unease late at night as they lay in the darkness. He would stay awake for hours as she nestled against him in the dark. His anxiety turned to fear, omniscient and constant. Each passing day of this ritual killed part of him just a little more.

Why them? Why him?

It kept him awake for hours each night.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right.

Where is the fairness in this God?

Have I not served you well?

Have I not been a faithful servant?

There was never any answer.

He began to sob silently in his sleep.

She would be awakened time to time by the sounds of his whimpering, the tears streaming down his cheeks in the darkness.

At dawn he would never remember and she would never say.

The curse continued.

Each sunrise became a sentence of shame and humiliation.

He lowered the bucket into the well one more time on a beautiful summer afternoon, hoping against hope that even one drop of water would taint the dirt.

It hit the dirt easily, the slack grew when it hit the bottom.

His heart sank to the depths of the Ocean.

Deep sobs welled up and escaped his chest, knees buckled,

he collapsed on the ground, limbs laying prostrate like a dog.

After a moment as infinite as space, he raised himself up and walked to the house.

Each step was measured and deliberate.

His pace quickened as he neared the door.

She heard him burst through the front door and bound up the stairs to their room.

He pulled the dusty lockbox from beneathe his side of the bed and opened it in a fury.

It lay before him, gleaming.

If he didn't know any better he would have sworn it was smiling. It felt good in his grip. All the power of God wielded in one instrument.

He stepped out the bedroom into the hall, approaching the stairs like a soldier ready to ambush the enemy.

He stood there at the top of the stair case looking straight at her, frozen like a doe.

Eyes that professed undying love could now only gaze in shocked confusion.

He drew and fired.

One lucky shot did the job as she fell back against the hardwood floor.

A silence as deep as space swept over him.

He began to shake uncontrollably as if in an epileptic fit. He dropped to the floor, cursing his name, cursing the well, cursing an unresponsive God.

He lifted it up by the weighted handle slowly.

There were still five chambers ready and loaded.

He only needed one.

It went off like a firecracker in the dark.

The muffled sound of an empty carapace hitting floor echoed through their home.

A silence as deep as the rivers flowed through the emptiness of their home.

It rained that night, the water flowed freely like blood through arteries.