Small Comfort

I looked up from the bottom of the well. It was a dry well, or had been. Now it was damp. Dark clouds spat rain and though the opening that faced the sky wasn’t very wide, water streamed down the rough, pitted brick in dark rivulets. Water that pooled at my feet in puddles that reached out toward each other.

Spring storms usually lasted for days. If I didn’t get out of here I’d be in danger of drowning. I didn’t think anyone was going to come let me out. This was punishment after all. Not punishment, a death sentence. Maybe drowning would be a mercy compared to dehydration. A small mercy.

Pulling my hat off, I ran a hand through hair that had grown greasy in the time since my last bath. At least they had left me my hat. It wasn’t much, being as worn and stitched up as I was, but I liked it. A man should have three things in his life- a reliable gun, the love of a woman, and a good hat. They’d taken my pistol and my woman, but left me my hat, and if I got out of here, I’d do my damnedest to reclaim the rest.

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