Boy in a Well | Part 2

His face is plain and new and too small to really see. I had never seen this boy before. Before he can throw another rock at me, I call out to him:


He can hear me.

I wonder how he got in there. I wonder for how long. I ask him this. 

Maybe he smiles at me (I can’t see) but I know that he hasn’t said anything back. 

A rock flies up and hits the tree behind me. I walk to it and pick the stone up. I drop it down the well.


The boy said that, crying. His voice is odd and trembly. It doesn’t sound like anyone I know.

“Hello? I didn’t want to hurt ya, but ya weren’t talkin’.”

“Blimey! Why don’t you join me? I’ll toss another stone at your head if you don’t!”

Blimey? I jump down the well, and I land onto cold ground.

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