Faithful Pebble
Part Eight
She couldn't see the light. Even at night, he could see the stars. They were miles away, miles upon miles at the end of a distance he could only imagine and yet he could still see them. They always shone brilliantly, brightly. There were days where it seemed he could just reach out and touch them. And she couldn't see them. What about the sun?
He waved then waited. He rapped the side of the cold stone wall. He yelled down then leaned in further, his eyes squinting into the darkness. "He-hello? Pebble?"
"Because she fell."
"Hmm?" The man regarded the smallest, the youngest child of that monstrous gang. He kneeled before him, meeting him eye to eye like a man would his equal. "What did you say?" he asked.
"We call her Pebble, because she fell." The boy gathered a rock and raised it high over his head. A kind of firm determination crumpled his face, sticking out his tongue from between two plump purple-stained lips. He dropped it. It fell silently to the ground—
Just like the wanderer's did. He'd on whim, when nothing happened, found a small rough stone upon the grassy hill and dusted it off. Then, he held it over the opening praying that he wouldn't hit her. In an instant, it dropped. It fell without a sound sailing, plunging, diving until it hit rock bottom. Apparently, the villagers were right. The well must have been dry for nothing sailed into his ears, not a splash, not a gurgle, a thud, or even a—
"Please."
~ Calla