The Wishing Well

Take your pennies in your hand, my dear ladies and sir lads, and lay them 'cross the crystal glass.  Close your eyes, be whisked away to a land of utter dream and play. Say your hopes and wish to you. Those of faith with heart pure shall always find their wish come true…
~
A wish. A simple little thing held by all, spoken in the carefree manner of childhood rhymes. A flick of copper into the wishing well followed by a dream always brought it to fruition. Or that is what the dreamers say.
It was a deep muddied pit lined by stone with a shining bottom from the countless, piled wishes. The wishing well, it was so dubbed by passerby. A thing of childhood wonder that took on a crystalline appearance by all little princes and princesses. Yet as the hammer of life came crashing down, the mirage was destroyed by reality, for wishes were mere hopes and all those of adulthood knew that tossing your money down the wishing well was as good as throwing it away. Bills had to be paid. Food had to be bought with the daily bread. Oil was needed for the cars. Copper was needed for the bullets.
Pennies simply could not be tossed away anymore. Not while the looming gloom of warfare hovered above the people's heads.
And that is how the wishing well's glamour was ripped away, leaving it a rusty toy of the past that once held so much promise, so much joy… So much hope. Belief. Dreams…
Yet, not a wish came true. Perhaps that is what caused the children to grow so soon, to pass the entity without a second look on their cobblestone pathway to the schoolyard. Patience is a virtue, rare in the highest extent. Wishes never came true, or not when they wanted. The well was a pit of grime and disgust. A mere garbage for your pennies.
That was how the townsfolk came to know it. That is what it was deemed fit.
No one wished. No one played. No one tossed their pennies down the drain. They worked, moving in unison as the cloud of darkness spread over the land, consuming the world as it whisked away the men from the families to extinguish the night…
The wishing well was forgotten, cast away by society along with the wonder it brought. Slowly, it sank into its own pit of gloom. Mold consumed the sides of stone, bricks fell forth from the walls, the once-clear water turned black with clinging microbes of disease, the copper within crusting over like each dream that rested over the metal casting. It was alone in the world, dying…
Until a spring day in the month of May. Footsteps clamored down the street as wee feet scurried across the surface. Was it a mouse? Mice weren't uncommon as of now; they were pleasant company to keep, yet they hadn't the mind fit to dream. To be. To live.
A tuft of blonde peered over the crumbled edge, looking into the well below. A child. A child… how long had it been since the well saw such a thing? Blue orbs of innocence shone, blinking once or twice. And then… from her pocket, the girl drew a penny.
It hit the surface with a plunk as she closed her eyes-so tight, so tightly!-, cringing her face in the utmost concentration as she wished hard. Wish, wish, wish!
No fortune was asked. No flowers, nor sweets and jewels from the glittering boutiques of town. No, no object was asked for. Nothing like that. Instead, in a meek voice barely higher than a whisper, the mere little girl spoke softly.
"Papa. I wish for Papa." And then, on tip-toed feet donned in pink slippers, she left as she had came.
The days went on, one by one. Each day, she returned with a penny. Each day, she wished. The same wish over and over once more. Once, a packet of seeds came in tow to shrew besides the stone walls; to make it 'pretty' as she had said. Once she tried to clean the stone. And each day… she wished. And each day… she hoped. And each day… she believed.
The pulse of the well returned. It awoke from its absence, stirred by the sheer innocence of the childhood brought forth from the girl. Hope. Dreams. Wishes. How long he had missed it; oh, how sweet it was! How, how sweet.
The townsfolk shook their heads each time they passed. Wishing did no good, they said. Save your pennies, they said. Copper makes the bullets, they said. Copper will save your papa, girl, they said. Stop your wishing, girl, they said.
Yet each day, each and every day, she would cringe her face, her nose wrinkled, and she would wish.
And wish.
And wish.
And wish…
Days lapsed into months. Months into years as the dark cloud of the world grew evermore as the sand of time slid by.
Stop your wishing, girl. Stop your wishing. Have you not heard? Not a letter arrived in a week. Not a word. Nothing.
Papa isn't coming home. Papa isn't coming, girl. Stop tossing your copper down the wishing well.
The words were all the same by they. By them. By the ones who gave up believing oh so long ago…
Yet she wished. She wished so very hard. For she knew that one day, her wish would come true. All you had to do was believe. Believe, and everything was possible.
No letter in a month. Not a word by the men in uniform. No word from Papa.
She still wished, she still wished even when Marmee was crying upstairs by the fireplace. Even as the tears hit the floor. Even as the faith around her was lost, the wishing well still stood. And each day, her pennies piled in the pool below.
Three years. No Papa. No word. No nothing.
There was only so much time one would wait… only so much time one could have.
It was her last penny, and as she tossed it, she wished, her voice as dark as the clouded world about her. Please, please, please! She begged all the same, all the same like every day. Yet when she opened her eyes… there was nothing.
Maybe Marmee was right. Maybe the people were right. Wishing in the wishing well was just a simple waste… throwing your pennies away.
Her faith had dwindled. She waited and waited. And waited again. Yet… she could not find the strength to wait no more.
She nearly gave up, falling into her own pool of salt-water tears. She nearly did when a knock sounded on the oaken door of home. It was almost too soft to hear, yet it repeated. Once, twice, a third time. She left the fireplace by Marmee's side, grubby hands clutching the well-worn knob before finding the strength to tug open the door.
On the other side stood a man in uniform with blue eyes… blue eyes that met her own azure gaze.
"PAPA!" the little girl cried, running into his arms with such force and glee while the childhood rhyme did play…
~
Take your pennies in your hand, my dear ladies and sir lads, and lay them 'cross the crystal glass.  Close your eyes, be whisked away to a land of utter dream and play. Say your hopes and wish to you. Those of faith with a heart pure shall always find their wish come true…