Four and 20 Blackbirds
Once upon a time, the girl, the little girl who lives down the lane. The lane, the tilted lane, both up and down. Yes, that lane. The one that empties into the well. She strolls, trips, falls into the well. The well is dry. In the darkness, she feels the cobblestone walls surround her. She thinks she is blind. Next thought: I will not graduate on time.
We've seen it all before, like an animated tautology. Sincerely, gently, we drop our wishes down the well, we let them float down. We offer her thoughts, prayers, the usual. 'Sorry you fell down the well.' 'Wish you were here.' She looks up. She's all eyes now, no longer blind, her eyesight returned to her, down their in the darkness at the bottom of the well. “How ever did you find me, find me in the well?” She cries. The little boy, a neighbor from down the lane replies, “It's all over town. There's a girl, fallen down the well. Everyone knows. You can see it for yourself.”
Sorry love. Sorry about this mess you've gotten yourself into, well, the condition we have found you in, in the well. Must be awful. What's your story? What's your tale? Tell us the one about the little girl who lives down the lane. The lane that leads us to the well. Tell us that one.
Black sheep loose, heads lowered, hooves scratching at the ground like instinctual goats, menace the rescuers at the well. A cow and a spoon arrive and no one pays attention. It's all a 3 penny opera. The little boy from down the lane is blue, nothing much for him to do but jump into the well, following his wishes, as rescuers and readers shower them with coins.
Another girl, a pretty girl, implores the crowd to giver some room, “OK, everyone stand back. Let me give this a try.” She unfurls what surely must be meters of hair, drops it down the well. Nothing happens. Silence. She waits, asks for patience, for more time.
It is nearing dark when the prince arrives, dismounts from his horse and asks for the girl. The crowd is too sad to speak, they point to the well. The prince makes his radiantly handsome way through the crowd as villagers faint at the sight of him and vendors begin selling soft drinks and snacks. A reporter asks the prince what plan he has to save the girl. He smiles handsomely, the only smile he knows, and replies that his plan is to kiss her. No backup plan.
Sword drawn, asking someone to hold his waistcoat, he stands atop the wall which circles the well, holds his nose with his fee hand, and dives into the well.
Overjoyed well wishers, who knows why, begin jumping down the well as well until the well is overflowing with wishes, sympathy, loose change, tears; and by nightfall, there is only the sound darkness, resignation, and all those people...those poor poor people, who lived happily ever after.
The End.
Steve Vermillion is a writer and editor living in Northern California. He is a contributing editor at tNY Press. His recent work appears in print and online in a variety of magazines. In 2014 he was nominated for a 'Best of the Net' award in Short Stories, as well as receiving Honorable Mention in Glimmer Train Magazine's Short Story of the Year.