The Wishing Well | ✔

• Three •

With one swift look around the area, Peter ensured that no one was near enough to see him attempt this. A split-second later, he had swung over the edge of the well and was easily climbing down, using some of the rocks jutting out as footstools.

The well turned out to be much shallower than he expected. Within a couple of minutes, he felt musky water seeping through his holey shoes. Finding an old bucket floating in the water below him, he gave it a little push to ensure that the water didn't go any deeper. Sure enough, it hit the ground—or was it the ground?—making a faint clinking sound.

Cautiously, Peter stepped off of the muddy walls. His feet sunk through the foot of water, but they didn't hit solid ground. Instead, his shoes seemed to slide around the floor, sinking a little deeper every time he wiggled them.

Peter reached down and laid his fingers on whatever there was beneath his feet. They touched something cold—something metal. He gasped as he drew his hand up again. There, in the palm of his hand, were several coins. The light was too dim to see what coins they were, or when they were dated, but he could tell by his slipping shoes that there must be a fortune down here.

But of course there are coins down here, Peter thought. This is a wishing well.

Nonetheless, this is what he had been hoping for. A way to save his family. A way to bring them out of their endless struggle for the bare necessities.

Just for a moment, Peter recalled the cries of the old man a few minutes earlier. He attempted to fit the pieces together, but he still remained clueless. 

Anyway, I need this money, he thought. I can figure out what the man meant later.

Peter found himself automatically removing his wet shoes to scoop in a handful of coins. He grabbed handful after handful and shoved them in, until there was barely enough room for his feet. They were bursting at the seams.

Thankfully, he still had his empty jean pockets. Though they were relatively small, he stuffed in a good amount of coins. Reaching down one last time to feel the mountain of coins beneath his feet, he marvelled at the fact that there were still so many remaining.

Maybe I can come back later, he reflected. If I don't get caught and captured, like that old man just was.

Watching his footing carefully, he pushed up against the walls and began his ascent up the well. The climb was far more difficult than the descent had been, and his shoes and pockets full of heavy coins certainly didn't help much. But, although he moved at a slow pace, he managed to make his way up. It wasn't long until he could see the top of the well.

That's when Peter was faced with a problem. To his dismay, the guards had been replaced. All four surrounded the top of the well as before, their backs facing the well—and him.

He froze. Now what? If he climbed any farther, he would be spotted immediately. If he made even the slightest noise, he would be heard. He glanced at his stuffed pockets in grave dismay. If just one coin fell into the water below...he'd be done for.

Peter figured that his best bet would be to simply stay there. He didn't know how long his strength would last, but it was worth a try, anyway. Preparing himself to face up to a couple hours of fatigue, he clung to the dank rocks and braced himself.

Five minutes went by; but to Peter, it already felt like an eternity. His fingers were already starting to give way, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hang on for much longer. Panic filled him, and he could hear his heart racing. What if the guards hear it?

Two more minutes. With every second that passed, Peter grew wearier and wearier. Then, he knew that he simply couldn't hold on any longer. Defeated, he shifted his position. A couple of coins fell out of his pocket as he did so, making a loud splash as they hit the water below.