Wishing Well part III

Anda’s form shook with distress. The walls of reality began to crumble around her; her deepest desires, her most heartfelt wishes, her very soul seemed to quake as the depths of life flooded around her. She struggled to breathe. She struggled to move. Anda’s spirit seemed to desire that the waters of the wishing well would swell up and swallow her.

Behind her, Anda heard a splashing sound. The boy who called himself the ‘Dream Reaper’ was wading towards her. “How could you do this to me,” she cried out. “You’ve stolen everything from me?”

The wading boy stopped an arms length from Anda. “Are these all your coins?” he asked patting his jangling pockets.

“No, they aren’t all mine. But mine are in the midst of them. Wishes from all sorts of people for all sorts of gifts.”

“How many of these are yours?” he asked.

Anda finally looked at him. As she did, he took a step back almost stumbling. The waves from his near fall rebounded against the angel and back to Anda. She studied his youthful face. His eyes were close set, his small nose was slightly upturned and overall, his face was smudged with dirt. His hair was dark, at least it appeared that way in only the moonlight.

“What does it matter to you? You’ve taken them all?” She sighed in resignation.

“What good does it do to throw money into the wishing well? Does the Angel even see? Does the Angel hear your voice? Does the Angel even care?” The boy stooped down to pick up one of Anda’s last coins. “This one. What was this dream?”

“That,” Anda said as she began to rise, “was my last hope.” She held out her hand to the boy who drew close and placed the quarter in her outstretched palm. “I asked the Angel for the deepest desire of my heart. And now I know, truly know, that the Angel is simply…”

“What?” the boy pressed her.

“…simply a sign that life isn’t fair.”

They were quiet for a moment. The two of them, the Dream Caster and the Dream Reaper, paused to find the right words to say.

“It was always just stone,” the boy said. “But there is something more, something much better than stone angels and coin casting.”

Anda looked around refusing to hope anymore. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“This place, here and now, is cold and wet and confusing. But there is a place that I can show you, not far from here where the world is warm, the people are content and they welcome new people. Look,” he pointed over the pine trees. “Do you see the glow on the horizon?”
Anda nodded.

“That is the light of the new day and with a new day comes new life. That is also where I’ve found a community of…”

“What?” Anda pressed him.

“A place of faith. Not in stone Angels or silvery coins or even wet feet and hands. Come with me. Follow me.” The boy seemed very certain as he stretched out his hand to her.

“I’ve got to get home. If I don’t, my dad will… reprimand me.”

“There’s no hurry,” the boy said. “Let me walk with you on your way. Then, in the near future, look for me at your door.”

Anda looked at the boy’s small, wet hand. Slowly she reached out and took it in her own. The two of them stepped out of the wishing well and began walking slowly up the path to Anda’s house hand in hand.

“What are you going to do with the coins from the Wishing Well?” Anda asked.

The boy smiled. “New dreams are sown, my new friend, from the scattered wishes of the past. You’ll see.”

They were quiet on their walk.

The Wishing Well wished them well on their journey. It’s soft trickling of water echoed for a few moments. The moon winked behind the clouds. The Angel must have turned her face.

A new day was coming.

The Wishing Well: Part 2

Without thought to the darkness that waited for her, Anda closed the bedroom door behind her. Leaving the lights off, Anda attempted to bury herself in darkness; she wanted to immerse herself in the anonymity of the night preferring not to see her reflection in the panes of her window.

“My window,” she thought. “I can escape out the window and run back to the wishing well. I’ll bring a handful of coins this time. Surely the angel will accept my offering if I bring a fortune.”
Anda rummaged through her room seeking to find her piggy bank containing what little treasure her parents would give her. After some fumbling in which she knocked over a lampstand (she we was sure her father would hear and offer advice in only the way that he knew how), Anda found her porcine treasure box, opened it and retrieved all the money left in it. Carefully she placed the piggy bank back on the shelf and wended her way to the window. As she struggled and strained to open the window quietly, she felt the blood rushing to the newly formed bruise on her face. It was simply a low throbbing now; the instantaneous shock of pain had escaped the window of her soul.

With just a small screak the window popped open. Anda tilted her head waiting to hear her father’s inevitable footsteps ascending the stairs. Hearing none, and thanking the God of the Angel for that, she placed her foot out the window and onto the roof of the house. After backing out and shutting the window until only a crack remained at the bottom, Anda noticed the breeze of the night that she hadn’t felt just an hour before. From this high perch, the world seemed different. If only I could fly away, she thought. Just for a few hours I could leave this home and soar through the clouds playing in the moonlight. No more pain; no more shame.

Anda peered over the edge of the roof to the ground below. Although only ten feet to the ground, Anda knew that flying was out of the question. She shinnied down the drainpipe being careful not to make any sound. She alit on solid ground once again thankful to the God of the Angel, for safe passage.

The short hike back to the wishing well was filled with wistfulness. I wish I lived in a house with a family that cared enough to care. I wish that just for a while we were normal. I wish… I wish…
Anda startled a deer on the wooded path back to the pool guarded by the stone Angel. It ran into the woods, turning back when it seemed a safe distance. The deer’s eyes questioned Anda’s need to be in that place. They stared, the two of them, just for a few moments and then the deer melted into the darkened woods. Anda continued on her journey. Not far from the pool, she heard a brief splashing sound. Hurrying forward wondering what could have happened, she hastened to the wishing well. Looking up at the Angel, she noticed the shadows had changed the Angel’s face from stern disapproval to seeming contentedness.

It could only be a good sign. Anda reached into her pocket to grab the rest of her remaining wishes, when suddenly she noticed that the moon was not reflecting any of the other casually tossed dreams in the bottom of the pool. Her heart leapt! The Angel! The Angel had descended to take the coins! All of her dreams had come true! With a great smile, Anda pulled the last of her coins out and hurled them far into the pool. Some of them rebounded against the Angel statue, the others plopped harmlessly into the pool below.

“Thank you, Angel,” Anda spoke to the statue. “I look forward to new life!” With those words, Anda reached into the pool and washed her face. She poured water over her head, over her arms. She took off her shoes and immersed her feet in the rippled coolness. Excitedly, Anda felt as if the doors of her heart had been opened and the wind of joy had swept across the waters of the pool and entered refreshing her to the soul.

Quickly, Anda dried her feet in the grass, put her shoes on and turned to leave. She felt like whistling; she felt like singing – she hadn’t done that in a very long time; she felt like dancing. Even the bruise which was beginning to outline her eye seemed less oppressive.

Anda turned to walk back home…


When she heard a sneeze.


It seemed to have come from the wishing well; Anda was not naïve enough to believe that the Angel had sneezed.

“Who’s there?”

Silence.

“Come out. I want to know who you are.”

The moon seemed like a spotlight on the silent form of the Angel spreading her trickling waters to the pool. Then, a small form emerged from the behind the stone skirt of the heavenly Messenger. His face was shrouded in darkness.

“Who are you?” Anda asked again.

The boy, who could not have been more than ten years old, said nothing but raised his hands.
His hands seemed to shimmer, to twist in the dim light. It was then that Anda realized that the boy had picked up all of the glittering money from the bottom of the pool. She could see the outline of his pockets bulging with coins.

“I am the Dream Reaper,” he said.

Anda sat down to cry.

The Wishing Well

It is truly incredible that I have been this slack - four months (and a whole lot of changes). For the next few days, I'll be updating the blog with pieces of short stories that I have been working on over the years and then in the next weeks I'll be blogging about the process of change.

This first short story has appeared in sections of Our Savoir's newsletter, Crosstalk, the last two months. On Tuesday, I'll be adding the last segment (which hasn't appeared yet in the Crosstalk - so those who want to finish the story first will have to read it hear on the blog.)


The Wishing Well

Amanda, or Anda, as she was called by most of her friends, stood beside the gentle lapping water of the wishing well. The cool night brought goosebumps to her arms, but she took no notice. As she stood by the water’s edge, she looked up at graying statue of the angel which was the source of the water trickling into the pool. The angel held a sword in one hand holding it high as if protecting the world from any number of tragedies. The hardened look on its face gave the stone angel a determined look – a look that said, I will allow nothing to get between you and me.
Anda stared at the molding statue seeking desperately for some sort of acknowledgment by the angel that it recognized her presence.

Why don’t you help me? She pleaded with the unmoving presence. The only response was the whispering water as it cascaded softly over the hem of the angel’s robe and dropped into the pool.

A stark, white moon cast it’s glow over the ripples in the pool. Anda knew in her mind that the sun cast the light to the moon and was reflected, that somewhere – just somewhere – it was warm, comfortable and pain free. Anda stepped to the edge of the pool to view all the other dreams that had been casually flipped into the wishing well. She could almost hear the wishes embedded in the glowing coins.

“I wish I was prettier.”

“Let my mom and dad get along.”

“Please don’t let him touch me again.”

“Why am I like this? Make me a better person.”

One by one Anda could sense the needy. All wanted answers but the wishing well was silent. Anda was one of the needy – needing some sort of newness of life. Leaning over the pool she attempted to see her reflection but knowing that she really didn’t want to experience the recent attempts by her father to ‘help her understand how discipline will help her in life.’
Looking at her distorted image, her face wrinkled and moving, she unwillingly recollected the last nights, in a series of too many ‘discipline’ nights, rocking herself to sleep waiting for her bruises to turn color.

Straightening up, Anda reached into her pocket for the quarter. Turning it over in her hand, she noticed the similarities in color of the angel and the stern face of the first President of the United States. If only…

There are no rules for wishing at the wishing well. There are only hopes and rituals. Anda’s ritual was to take a coin from her piggy bank and press her wish into the coin hopefully ironing her deepest desires into the offering for the angel. Anda brought a quarter this night, normally it was a penny or a dime, hoping that the greater the worth of the coin the greater acknowledgment of the angel to grant her wish.

Please let my father stop hitting me. Let him see me as a precious gift. Let him treat me as his princess and not his disgrace.

A tear trickled down her cheek and dropped onto the coin. Anda’s face was like the angelic statue in the middle – always leaking water. Not wasting another moment, Anda drew her arm back, hesitating only a moment, and threw the coin into the wishing well. She watched the quarter arc over the water, the moonlight sparkling across it’s spinning surface. With great hope she listened for the brief plip as the coin entered the water and presumably settled to the bottom of the pool near the angel’s foot.

With something like reserved faith, Anda bowed to the angel and turned to make her way back home. The recent rains had made the path slightly muddy but Anda’s thoughts were far from the quality of the path. Nearing her house, she slowed noticing that even at this late hour, the living room light was on. Trying not to make a sound, Anda placed her hand on the door knob and opened the door. Entering without looking, she closed the door behind her.

As she turned around, her father greeted her with a closed fist.

“It’s past your bedtime,” he said. “I was worried about you. Next time, you’ll learn.”