Widower was surprised, but then again he wasn’t. A stone’s throw from the house, his hand gripped shaded walls that lined the well. His heart had givin’ up on him, down in the dark pit, memories came swarming out in whispered words caught in the winds in the leaves.

Jesus met a woman at a well. He’d met his own. The property built around it for her. A lifetime around a well. He held his chest. The pain had gotten worse. Dropped the rope, the bucket lunged into the waters echoing & sloshing down deep below.

A Stranger rode up, & with little strength Widower stood. Stranger took off his hat, introduced himself. Was lookin’ for a well after a mighty long ride. Widower slumped down against the well, knocking down a few stones into it. The whispers seemed louder now then they had been.

Stranger got off his colt, slowly moved forward & grabbed the rope, pulled up the bucket in one tug. He brought it down to the Widower and told him to drink. Water smelled like roses & tasted as sweet. Stranger took a drink himself & sat down next to Widower.

“It’s only fitting,” he said.

Widower smiled, wiped his mouth with the backa his hand, & listened just a little more to the whispers in the well.

# # #

Matthew Senn is a writer from Grand Rapids, MI. He’s pursuing a degree in Writing at Grand Valley State University, and enjoys mixing and experimenting with his favorite genres: westerns and poetry/fiction. His flash fiction was recently featured on Open: Journal of Arts & Letters, and his poems have been featured in Goat’s Milk Literary Journal and an upcoming publication sponsored by Untwine.Me.

Photo: Gabriel