• Happy/Should have brought a shovel

    by  • December 22, 2017 • * Safe for Work *, Waxing Poetic • 0 Comments

    In the land of Happy there was a well. This was the Well of Sadness. At the bottom of the well was a boy. At the top, a girl.

    The boy spent years climbing up the well, trying to get back to Happy. Sometimes the girl would peek over the edge. Seeing this, the boy climbed faster so as to stop her from falling in.

    But she never did. She would peer over the lip and then dart far far away from the well.

    When she left, the boy lost his grip.

    He slipped, he fell, and when he hit the bottom of the well he found it was deeper than before.

    After many times failing to escape the boy stopped trying to get out. He made a home there.

    From what was once a well the boy made a tunnel.
    A tunnel turned to cavern. Cavern to underground city.

    A city he named Depression.

    He had carved away at a portion of Happy. Taken it. Made it his own.

    And Happy would never get it back.

    But it wasn’t enough for the boy.  He continued to carve away. Another city; Anxiety.  And another; Pain.

    He chipped and cut and carved out more and more and more. Guilt, Anger, Resentment, Jealousy.

    All gargantuan empty cities. Echoing with a tormenting cacophony of silence that only made the boy dig faster.

    The dirt of Happy is made of Sanity. And when removed, ceases to exist.

    Eventually he stopped, looked at everything he had left, and saw that there was only one tiny piece left connecting to the surface.  One miniscule thread of dirt holding up the shell the boy had made of Happy.

    He had taken it all.

    One strand, in the middle of his final city.

    Suicide.

    And then she came.

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