Well | h.s.

- momma

In heavy breathes and aching limbs, we both pant as we lay in the thick moss and grass.

I sit up, seeing the back of the boys head as he lays limp, recovering from the pull.

"Harry?" I question.

The boy doesn't move anything but his head to look around.

His skin is swollen from water it has taken on in the well. His face cut up and sunken, he's merely skin and bones with water in between. His body just isn't quite right. His legs fall short at his calves into almost stumps, probably from being in the water so long. His head is slightly sunken on one side, probably from the fall long ago and I can see the effects of the drop on his left arm too, it has clearly been broken. It never healed quite right. His lips part slightly to try to pull in air, but I can tell he's too weak to do it.

His eyes continue on searching but not quite looking at anything.

"Am I out?" His voice cracks.

"Yes... can't you see?" I question, concerned for the boys blank expression.

"I can't see a thing..." his lip shakes with rising emotion, "why can't I see?"

The sunlight had blinded him.

"It's okay... it's okay, you're out now."

"I can't move... I can't feel my legs. My back feels like I'm laying on knives."

He lifts his hand up, and reaches for my face. I hesitate to let him, but I know he can't see and maybe this is the best way for him to feel comfortable with me.

His swollen and dirty finger traces my nose and lips, over my eyelashes and across my cheekbones.

"You're like her."

"Like who?" I question.

"Like Momma."

His breathing becomes more shallow. I know he's dying.

"Why did she put you down here, Harry?"

"Little Harry was always up to no good. And one day, Little Harry finally understood." He knows they rhyme.

"She put you down here because you misbehaved?"

"Momma doesn't like when Harry goes too far. She tried again. She has a better baby who listens."

"What?!"

"Momma deserved a better child. Momma doesn't love bad boys."

My heart breaks for this broken man. Whether his story is true or not, he seems to believe it is. His mother abandoned him to have another child, one that she said would be better than him. It would crush my soul if my mother was that horrific.

"What's your real name, Harry? Your full name?"

Maybe I know his mother. Maybe I know of this other child.

"Harry..." he struggles for air, wheezing as he gasps. "... Harry Glenchy."

My heart pulsates once, my fingers twist into the dirt. My cheeks burn and my stone-like lungs crack.

"Glenchy?" My voice cracks.

But before I can get an answer, his head falls limp and his eyes go distant and stop searching. His chest stops rising and falls for the final time. And his fingers fall down from their clenched expression.

A tear falls from my eye when I realize what's going on.

Hearing a twig snap, I look up to see Missy scampering past me.

Only when I look up further do I see what she was looking for.

"Mom?" I shake.

"Oh, baby, what did I tell you about wandering too far?"

— THE END —