Just like every day before, he put on his boots,
Wrapped himself up in his warm jacket,
Buttoned it up nice and tight.
He opened the door and as it creaked he cursed a little under his breath,
He tried to close the door slowly, so it would make less noise,
But it actually only made it worse.
He cursed again, but more violently this time.
He slammed the door.
It made a lot of noise.
He winced.
It was cold.
It was always cold.
But somehow, it was colder today.
Colder than usual. Maybe even colder than ever.
He cursed.
He trudged.
The mud was sticky.
And it splattered.
This was the worst it had ever been.
And he had been doing it a long time.
His legs seemed more tired now.
His eyelids a little heavier than before.
He realized he had forgotten the pale.
He cursed and he kicked the mud.
It only caused it to splatter,
He even got some into his open mouth.
The way he spit it out and angrily waved his arms in the air,
Was very dramatic.
He turned back around and trudged all the way back.
He found his pale picked it up and threw it against the wall.
For a moment, he thought he had broken it.
This caused him to soften his movements as he examined it.
It appeared to be ok.
He threw it against the mud
The mud as soft.
He inhaled deeply,
He exhaled even deeper.
He didn’t feel like it
But he trudged back into the cold, empty, dirty darkness.
The area around the well was the worst.
And it was only getting worse.
His foot sunk deep into the mud.
He closed his eyes.
He exhaled deeply.
Just a few more steps.
He was filthy. He was a mess. Everything was a mess.
It wasn’t always like this.
When did it become like this.
His arms grew sore from holding the pale above his head,
He couldn’t let the pale get dirty,
That would ruin everything.
The pale got a little dirty.
He trudged and finally reached the well.
The well was empty.
He stared into the bottom of the well for quite some time.
He looked around him.
He was sinking into the mud.
Deeper.
He tried to trudge.
His pale got dirty.
But it didn’t matter anymore,
The well was empty.
