Friday, April 4, 2014

The Descent

He was dreaming, but he didn’t know it. His dreams were becoming more and more vivid, to the point where he had difficulty knowing what was actually real. Over the past ten years, he had finally become an insomniac. He filled his sleepless nights with another job as a night auditor for a local mall. His multiple jobs kept him constantly working. He loved working, and although it left him little room to do much else, he didn’t seem to mind. In the dream, he found himself up on a Hill, appreciating the serene solitude it allowed him. There was no one else in sight or earshot. He realized he wanted more than anything to be alone, although he vaguely felt out of sorts without anything to do there, alone on the Hill.
He suddenly came across a stone well. He startled himself after realizing how thirsty he had become. He had been thirsty for an incredibly long time, but somehow was unaware of it until that moment. He began lowering the bucket down into the deep hole. Years went by, and he was still lowering the bucket. Eventually, he could not determine whether he was lowering the bucket down or drawing the water up. He lost himself in the motion, forever turning the rattling handle around in circles by himself. He became numb to everything, lulled by the subtle rattling in his ears as the little metal gears shifted, lowering the now invisible bucket into an infinite black hole. He did not mind the turning so much. The continuous, repetitive motion comforted him, despite the dry scratch in his throat. The vague expectation that there was drinkable water at the bottom of the well was enough to keep him going, it gave him an indefinite sense of purpose…until he eventually forgot about his thirst, or why he continued turning the handle, or even the purpose of the well.
The thought that the well was bottomless or dry occurred to him only fleetingly, he refused to dwell on the possibility. By the time he was actually willing to consider such possibilities seriously, he had already been turning the handle for so long, he did not know how to stop. Besides, what would he do if he did not continue turning the handle? It was such a delightfully simple task to forever repeat the same motion.


  1. I like this. It reminds me of Waiting for Godot.

    1. Hm. I've never heard of Waiting for Godot, but I'm glad you like the post! Thanks for reading. :)

    2. Waiting for Godot is a play written by Samuel Beckett. It's super interesting. I think you'd like it :)

    3. I just Googled it.. looks intriguing!