They were screaming at each other again, his parents, so he decided to get out. He went walked out the door and kept walking for what felt like miles until he was exhausted, but when he looked back he could still see the house he had come from. He went just a little bit further and it was then that he found the well. Something about it seemed welcoming so he peered inside, but the bottom was obscured by the inky black that comes with immense depths. Then he noticed a rope dangling over the edge, descending down into the dark. Not ready to return home and feeling just a bit reckless he began to climb down the rope into the well. A sadness swept over him causing him to pause in his decent and glance upwards. When he did,he saw a bright light and decided to climb towards it. The climb up was much harder than the one down, but eventually he exited the mouth of the well and started towards home.
The next time he visited the well was the next day. He hadn't stopped thinking about it and no longer wanted to resist the urge to return. When he arrived he didn't pause, but began climbing down the rope immediately. Again he went further down and down into the well until he saw the bright light and returned.
He continued to do this often and one day when he saw the light he had descended too far into the well mad didn't have the motivation to make the journey back up. He decided to just continue to the bottom so he could rest before the long journey back up.
When he finally did reach the bottom he felt panicky. He couldn't see anything in the darkness and he was overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of loneliness. Soon his eyes adjusted and as he looked around he noticed the well seemed identical to his house, but he soon realized there were some differences. His parents weren't there and he found the rooms filled with things he usually loved to do, but he just wasn't interested in them. He continued on to his bedroom where he found it filled with records and CDs and an iPhone full of his favorite music. He put on his favorite song but he couldn't get into it so he shut it off and went to lay on his bed. He stared at his wall and noticed a nail sticking me out of it. Deciding that he might be staying in the well for a while, (it wasn't so bad here), he thought it would be a good idea to mark the number of days he stayed. He looked around, but there he couldn't find anything to write with or on. He really thought it would be important later to remember his time here so he decided to just use the nail and mark the days on his wrist. He scratched one line for the first day and it hurt, but he was happy. He continued on for months in the well. The things he liked to do remained untouched and his music began to change to different bands. He liked the new music, felt like the artists understood him, but sometimes he would cry without really knowing why. He longed to leave but the daunting climb held him back.
One day the loneliness overpowered the fear, so he turned on his music and began to climb. However, as soon as the music faded and was too soft to hear he felt exhausted and let himself slide back to the bottom.
Some time later he decided to try again. He turned up the music as loud as it would go and began to climb. The sound of the music was almost too quiet to hear and fatigue was setting in when he saw his parent peering down at him. He called out to them the to pull the rope up and help him reach the top, but they did not. Instead they turned to each other and began to yell. He slid down the rope once more.
He eventually made it out of the well, but not before his arms were covered in marks from counting the days and as he grew older they never did fully fade.
