Dying Embers in the Well
Most mornings, I rise from bed, stoke the dying embers in the stove from the night before, and grumble to myself. The mutt’s usually up by then, whipping its tail around, pawing at the door, and mewling something awful.
I told Jasmine she wasn’t ready for it and that it would fall on me to care for it. But at least it needs me, unlike her, who left for her shift in the early hours. I’m genuinely surprised when she shows up again at the end of her shift, so we’ll see if she returns this evening.
I’m the first one at the well, which alarms me. There should be a line ten or fifteen deep to dip in. I should have passed Sev by now, balancing bucketful’s on any even or uneven surface of his incorporeal form, managing one way or another to make it back home without spilling a drop.
But not this morning.
I see Sev trundling towards me, wringing his hands and taking great sighs.
“The well’s out.”
“What do you mean it’s out?” I ask, worry spilling into my voice.
“I mean, it’s out. No more. Maybe never again,” Sev kicks a large, ice-molded stone with his foot that rises until it’s out of orbit.
“So what’s everyone going to do?”
Sev shrugs, pointing a gnarled finger at a tiny dot in the great starry expanse. “Move on.”
The remaining embers from last night have died, despite my efforts to resuscitate them. The mutt’s looking up at me with its golden eyes, and it scuttles its rear end closer to my feet. “Easy, now. We’ll get this straightened out. You’ll see.” I find comfort in the lie, even if the mutt doesn’t believe me.
It’s late when Jasmine finally gets home, the shadows having long taken root in our living space with our barren stove. “Finally ran out, eh?” she says, kicking her heavy boots off at the door. She’s been around longer than most others, save for Sev, and isn’t fazed by much.
“What’ll we do?” I say, scuttling toward her and looking at her with wide eyes.
“We’ll start tomorrow, you’ll see.”
The trek is long, but not too difficult. Not even the mutt complains much. We finally arrive at another well, beautiful and radiant, packed to the brim with enough light and heat for several lifetimes.
“You do the honors,” Sev tells me, nudging me forward. I lower my bucket into it, enjoying the feel of the star’s energy as it warms me down to my bones. I wonder about our new neighbors. If they’ll be friendly. If they won’t mind sharing their star.
“They look like ants from here, anyway,” Jasmine says. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow.”
