Loneliness

Loneliness once had a glass. He'd kept it polished so that the struggling rays that filtered through the musty air would fall through the glass and with their final, dying breaths, scatter themselves around the dark room like the dancing personalities Loneliness once knew. Loneliness would hold lengthy conversations with his glass, for he had noticed the pale, drawn face at the bottom that surely must have indicated a shy character; it disappeared if Loneliness but glanced aside. The face at the bottom of the glass never replied to Loneliness's questions, but Loneliness was glad that he had a good listener as a friend.

One day, Loneliness tried to fill his glass with brackish water from the well. He thought that perhaps the glass was thirsty, for it always seemed that the face at the bottom of the glass was speaking back to him, but Loneliness never heard a sound. Loneliness set the glass gently down and peered into the swirling water. A terrible misshapen face, constantly undulating, gazed back at him. Horrified, Loneliness thought, "I've killed my only friend!"

Dashing back to the well, he hurled the water from the glass, but his trembling fingers slipped, and Loneliness watched it tumble into the murky waters of the half-empty well. Petrified, Loneliness stared at the pale face that appeared far below, a terrified expression written across its wide eyes.

"I will save you!" Loneliness cried, gathering himself - never before had his heart hammered so! - and threw himself into the well.

As the darkness closed in around him like so many accusing eyes, Loneliness absently realized that he did not remember how to swim.


I cheated. I wrote this yesterday. But I'm too beat today to do anything else.