An Unremarkable Journey
By Joey Burneez
By Joey Burneez
One
In which Harold understands that he is mediocre at best
In which Harold understands that he is mediocre at best
Deep down Harold knew that he was a loser. He had always known. Even as a child he was aware of how truly unexceptional his mere existence was, with every big, impossible dream ultimately crushed by the inevitable reality of his poor choices and lack of talent. Here now, he was fully into middle age and acutely aware that it was too late to actually do anything worthwhile to be remembered for, big or small, good or bad. He was a nothing. Not even a blip in the history of the human race.
Now at forty-three, he felt that he was a victim of both his terrible, life-altering decisions (the most life-changing being, of course, drunkenly screwing, and impregnating the first ugly fat girl that showed him any attention) and complete lack of action when it would have mattered. Harold had never been the type to pay attention, study, work to achieve a goal, or have a five-year plan. Unsurprisingly, he never left the small town he grew up in. He worked at the local power plant (shit pay, long hours) and only moved out of his childhood home when his ex-wife took it in the divorce, even though it was the only thing his parents had left him when they died. Their daughter, the product of that fateful night, had grown up to be exactly like her mom; angry, fat, lazy, and also getting pregnant as a teenager from a night of bad, drunken decisions. This was how Harold had become a grandfather in his late thirties. And this was why, now, he found himself back at the childhood home that was no longer his, for his granddaughter’s 5th birthday party.
Harold had always known his life was pathetic, but the mere idea that it might possibly get better one day had always been motivation enough to stop him from blowing his brains out. Except now it seemed to be too late. It would never actually “get better.” Already a grandfather and closer to fifty than thirty, he truly felt that his best days were behind him, and, if he were being honest with himself, those “best days” were pretty lame. The reality of this sunk in as he watched his ex-wife, daughter, and granddaughter sit around the small table in the kitchen gorging on ungodly amounts of birthday cake, with frosting (unnaturally bright colors not found in nature) oozing out the sides of their disgusting mouths. Harold backed slowly to the door (quietly to avoid attention from his hateful ex), stepped through to get some fresh air, and headed straight for the old wishing well out back.
Now at forty-three, he felt that he was a victim of both his terrible, life-altering decisions (the most life-changing being, of course, drunkenly screwing, and impregnating the first ugly fat girl that showed him any attention) and complete lack of action when it would have mattered. Harold had never been the type to pay attention, study, work to achieve a goal, or have a five-year plan. Unsurprisingly, he never left the small town he grew up in. He worked at the local power plant (shit pay, long hours) and only moved out of his childhood home when his ex-wife took it in the divorce, even though it was the only thing his parents had left him when they died. Their daughter, the product of that fateful night, had grown up to be exactly like her mom; angry, fat, lazy, and also getting pregnant as a teenager from a night of bad, drunken decisions. This was how Harold had become a grandfather in his late thirties. And this was why, now, he found himself back at the childhood home that was no longer his, for his granddaughter’s 5th birthday party.
Harold had always known his life was pathetic, but the mere idea that it might possibly get better one day had always been motivation enough to stop him from blowing his brains out. Except now it seemed to be too late. It would never actually “get better.” Already a grandfather and closer to fifty than thirty, he truly felt that his best days were behind him, and, if he were being honest with himself, those “best days” were pretty lame. The reality of this sunk in as he watched his ex-wife, daughter, and granddaughter sit around the small table in the kitchen gorging on ungodly amounts of birthday cake, with frosting (unnaturally bright colors not found in nature) oozing out the sides of their disgusting mouths. Harold backed slowly to the door (quietly to avoid attention from his hateful ex), stepped through to get some fresh air, and headed straight for the old wishing well out back.
Two
In which Harold finds himself, once again, at the wishing well
In which Harold finds himself, once again, at the wishing well
For some reason, the well had been his favorite spot as a child. Every day, usually to escape the yelling of his parents, he would run out back to the wishing well, standing at the edge peering into the darkness to make a wish. Unfortunately, Harold lacked imagination, and his wishes were always quite lame and unoriginal, with “I wish for more wishes!” being Harold’s most common. The wishes, of course, never came true, because it was just an old well that was, like Harold, unexceptional in every way.
Harold arrived at the well and peered inside. It seemed older and darker than he remembered. He thought about jumping over the ledge and falling in, finally ending it all. But he knew he would never do it. No, he knew his unexceptional life would never end in such a dramatic fashion. He leaned forward, peering into the darkness and whispered, “I wish…”
A rustling behind him caused him to spin around. Harold expected to see the hateful, obese face of his ex and was already muttering out an excuse as to why he left the party, but no one was there.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
Nothing. A shiver ran up Harold’s spine. Just my imagination, thought Harold, even though he wasn’t exactly the imaginative type. He began to turn back towards the well when he heard it again, this time to his left.
“This is private property!” he yelled as he peered into the darkness.
Had it already been dark when he left the house a couple of minutes ago, he wondered? When he realized that he was too afraid to follow this thought to any logical conclusion, his fight or flight receptors deep in his brain’s amygdala took over, and he turned to run away. Of course, he thought to himself, unexceptional, unimaginative, mediocre Harold would choose flight, instead of fight.
Wait, said a voice.
Harold froze. The voice sounded scratchy and unnatural. He turned toward it while still slowly backing away.
I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time, said the voice.
“Who… what are you?” asked Harold, still inching back.
The bushes began to rustle, and the shadows began to merge into an upright figure, that to Harold’s eyes, seemed to appear human. The face was just a shadow, but Harold was sure he could see teeth (fangs?), smiling at him. As Harold looked closer, it seemed as if the smiling shadow’s silhouette had the ears and horns of a goat. The creature stepped forward and Harold thought he saw hooves where feet should be. He wasn’t sure, because every time he would try to focus on a part of the creature, it would blur in and out of focus.
“What are you?” asked Harold.
Seriously? replied the creature. You’ve seriously never heard of a Satyr before?
“Uh…” said Harold, who had never really cared for reading.
Well, said the Satyr, I am here to ask you to stop.
Harold just stood there with a blank expression on his face, not understanding.
Seeing Harold’s confused face, the Satyr continued:
Look, this is just an old well. It’s not magic. It doesn’t grant wishes. I’ve lived in this very spot for a thousand years and never, not once, have I seen it grant any wishes. Yet all you humans come here and throw in your pocket change, hoping it has some mystical powers that will make you better people. Every generation for a thousand years! Enough! It’s not going to happen! There are no wishes to be granted! You will never win the lottery! If you want to have a better life, make good decisions. Change your behavior! Go to college and get a marketable skill! Stop waiting for some sort of supernatural event or blind luck to suddenly make your life better! Go do something with yourself!
Harold just stood there, mouth agape, trying to focus on the dark creature speaking to him in that unnatural scratchy voice, still dissolving in and out of focus...
Look, I actually like you Harold, even though you are kind of a loser. I’ve watched as you grew up and made mistake after mistake. I’ve been rooting for you this whole time, but, I gotta say, Harold, you really need to buckle down and set some goals. And then actually follow through with them for once!
“So,” said Harold slowly. “You’re a Satyr…”
Yes, replied the Satyr, that’s what I’ve been saying. I’ve been watching you your whole life and…
“But Satyrs aren’t real,” said Harold.
Humph, grunted the Satyr, that’s rich, especially coming from someone who’s spent his entire life believing that a crummy old well would grant him a wish.
“So,” began Harold, “what exactly is a Satyr?”
Seriously Harold, you really should read more.
“Yeah, books were never really my thing”
No shit, said the Satyr, who was very aware of Harold’s lack of scholarly pursuits. I am a legendary and supernatural nature spirit, often found in mythology, usually appealing to mankind’s wild and hedonistic nature...
“Wait!” exclaimed Harold. “I remember hearing about you in some sort of movie or something once!” As he said this, the Satyr finally came fully into focus, and Harold could clearly see his dark, coarse fur, curved horns, hooved feet, and most creepily... that smile.
The Satyr paused and waited, knowing perfectly well where this was headed.
“You grant wishes!” cried Harold. “In the show I watched, you grant wishes!”
The Satyr sighed, In the show you watched I granted a wish, meaning one wish. And it didn’t work out in the end. I mean never, it NEVER works out in the end for the person making the wish. And honestly, the show you are thinking of starred a bunch of children’s puppets, so I wouldn’t exactly put all my faith in it…
“I want my wish!” said Harold.
Come on man, said the Satyr. Haven’t you heard of “The Golden Touch” or “The Monkey’s Paw?” The lesson is always very simple: Be careful what you wish for! You don’t want to do this!
“I want my wish,” repeated Harold, who hadn’t paid attention in class when they read “The Golden Touch” and “The Monkey’s Paw.”
I’m warning you, this is a terrible idea, said the Satyr, still smiling.
Harold didn’t give in. He had waited his whole life for any one of his wishes to come true, and now the moment had arrived. The Satyr saw that Harold was unwavering in his resolve. Shrugging his shoulders, the Satyr muttered, Well, you can’t say that I didn’t warn you!
Then the Satyr said:
Harold, I Grant You One Wish!
“I wish I…” began Harold.
Stop! screamed the Satyr.
Harold stopped.
Seriously Harold? An immediate wish with absolutely no thought? Come on man! You get one wish! Your heart’s desire finally fulfilled! Pause for a moment and think this thing through!
“You’re right,” said Harold. While he was anxious to make a wish, he understood what the Satyr was telling him. This was his one chance to make something of himself. This was his one chance to break the sad, mediocre cycle of his small, pathetic life. He began to think it through.
He thought of his unexceptional, adventureless childhood. He thought of his angry alcoholic parents, and the house that they would leave to him, one stupid, reckless night. He thought of his sad and lonely teenage years, which later he would refer to as his “Goth Phase.” He thought of having no friends, and of fucking the first fat, ugly girl that was nice to him one drunken night. He thought of pregnancy tests and quickie weddings, and of a lifetime of anger, resentment and emasculation. He thought of a job at a factory with no promotions and little pay, to support an ungrateful family that he hadn’t wanted in the first place. He thought of divorce and loss, and of his horrible ex taking the one thing he had in this world. He thought of the small town’s city limits, and of how little he had ever ventured out of them. And he thought of movies.
He thought how movies always had an amazing hero, showing courage in impossible situations. He thought of how the hero was always there to save the day, no matter the danger, often with a funny quip thrown out to entertain the audience. He thought of how the hero always got the girl. Not just any girl (and certainly not fat and ugly), but the most beautiful and lovely in the movie! With these thoughts, Harold knew just how unremarkable he truly was. He had never done anything even remotely heroic that anyone would want to look up to, much less make a movie about. He had never done anything noteworthy at all.
With this he realized what he truly wanted, his heart’s true desire. Money and material possessions would all be fleeting and forgotten. What Harold wanted was to live such a remarkable life, that stories about him would last forever.
Harold looked at the Satyr and said, “I wish I could do something so heroic and amazing, that people will never, ever forget me.”
Ah, said the Satyr. A Hero’s Journey. Now that, Harold, is one hell of a wish!
With that, the Satyr blurred out of Harold’s vision and vanished back into the shadows, and the last thing Harold could see from the darkness was... that smile. Harold dizzily made his way back to the house as if in a dream. He stumbled through the kitchen door where the three horrible girls in his life were still eating the giant cake. They did not notice him as he passed them in a daze, collapsed onto the sofa, and fell into a deep sleep.
Harold arrived at the well and peered inside. It seemed older and darker than he remembered. He thought about jumping over the ledge and falling in, finally ending it all. But he knew he would never do it. No, he knew his unexceptional life would never end in such a dramatic fashion. He leaned forward, peering into the darkness and whispered, “I wish…”
A rustling behind him caused him to spin around. Harold expected to see the hateful, obese face of his ex and was already muttering out an excuse as to why he left the party, but no one was there.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
Nothing. A shiver ran up Harold’s spine. Just my imagination, thought Harold, even though he wasn’t exactly the imaginative type. He began to turn back towards the well when he heard it again, this time to his left.
“This is private property!” he yelled as he peered into the darkness.
Had it already been dark when he left the house a couple of minutes ago, he wondered? When he realized that he was too afraid to follow this thought to any logical conclusion, his fight or flight receptors deep in his brain’s amygdala took over, and he turned to run away. Of course, he thought to himself, unexceptional, unimaginative, mediocre Harold would choose flight, instead of fight.
Wait, said a voice.
Harold froze. The voice sounded scratchy and unnatural. He turned toward it while still slowly backing away.
I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time, said the voice.
“Who… what are you?” asked Harold, still inching back.
The bushes began to rustle, and the shadows began to merge into an upright figure, that to Harold’s eyes, seemed to appear human. The face was just a shadow, but Harold was sure he could see teeth (fangs?), smiling at him. As Harold looked closer, it seemed as if the smiling shadow’s silhouette had the ears and horns of a goat. The creature stepped forward and Harold thought he saw hooves where feet should be. He wasn’t sure, because every time he would try to focus on a part of the creature, it would blur in and out of focus.
“What are you?” asked Harold.
Seriously? replied the creature. You’ve seriously never heard of a Satyr before?
“Uh…” said Harold, who had never really cared for reading.
Well, said the Satyr, I am here to ask you to stop.
Harold just stood there with a blank expression on his face, not understanding.
Seeing Harold’s confused face, the Satyr continued:
Look, this is just an old well. It’s not magic. It doesn’t grant wishes. I’ve lived in this very spot for a thousand years and never, not once, have I seen it grant any wishes. Yet all you humans come here and throw in your pocket change, hoping it has some mystical powers that will make you better people. Every generation for a thousand years! Enough! It’s not going to happen! There are no wishes to be granted! You will never win the lottery! If you want to have a better life, make good decisions. Change your behavior! Go to college and get a marketable skill! Stop waiting for some sort of supernatural event or blind luck to suddenly make your life better! Go do something with yourself!
Harold just stood there, mouth agape, trying to focus on the dark creature speaking to him in that unnatural scratchy voice, still dissolving in and out of focus...
Look, I actually like you Harold, even though you are kind of a loser. I’ve watched as you grew up and made mistake after mistake. I’ve been rooting for you this whole time, but, I gotta say, Harold, you really need to buckle down and set some goals. And then actually follow through with them for once!
“So,” said Harold slowly. “You’re a Satyr…”
Yes, replied the Satyr, that’s what I’ve been saying. I’ve been watching you your whole life and…
“But Satyrs aren’t real,” said Harold.
Humph, grunted the Satyr, that’s rich, especially coming from someone who’s spent his entire life believing that a crummy old well would grant him a wish.
“So,” began Harold, “what exactly is a Satyr?”
Seriously Harold, you really should read more.
“Yeah, books were never really my thing”
No shit, said the Satyr, who was very aware of Harold’s lack of scholarly pursuits. I am a legendary and supernatural nature spirit, often found in mythology, usually appealing to mankind’s wild and hedonistic nature...
“Wait!” exclaimed Harold. “I remember hearing about you in some sort of movie or something once!” As he said this, the Satyr finally came fully into focus, and Harold could clearly see his dark, coarse fur, curved horns, hooved feet, and most creepily... that smile.
The Satyr paused and waited, knowing perfectly well where this was headed.
“You grant wishes!” cried Harold. “In the show I watched, you grant wishes!”
The Satyr sighed, In the show you watched I granted a wish, meaning one wish. And it didn’t work out in the end. I mean never, it NEVER works out in the end for the person making the wish. And honestly, the show you are thinking of starred a bunch of children’s puppets, so I wouldn’t exactly put all my faith in it…
“I want my wish!” said Harold.
Come on man, said the Satyr. Haven’t you heard of “The Golden Touch” or “The Monkey’s Paw?” The lesson is always very simple: Be careful what you wish for! You don’t want to do this!
“I want my wish,” repeated Harold, who hadn’t paid attention in class when they read “The Golden Touch” and “The Monkey’s Paw.”
I’m warning you, this is a terrible idea, said the Satyr, still smiling.
Harold didn’t give in. He had waited his whole life for any one of his wishes to come true, and now the moment had arrived. The Satyr saw that Harold was unwavering in his resolve. Shrugging his shoulders, the Satyr muttered, Well, you can’t say that I didn’t warn you!
Then the Satyr said:
Harold, I Grant You One Wish!
“I wish I…” began Harold.
Stop! screamed the Satyr.
Harold stopped.
Seriously Harold? An immediate wish with absolutely no thought? Come on man! You get one wish! Your heart’s desire finally fulfilled! Pause for a moment and think this thing through!
“You’re right,” said Harold. While he was anxious to make a wish, he understood what the Satyr was telling him. This was his one chance to make something of himself. This was his one chance to break the sad, mediocre cycle of his small, pathetic life. He began to think it through.
He thought of his unexceptional, adventureless childhood. He thought of his angry alcoholic parents, and the house that they would leave to him, one stupid, reckless night. He thought of his sad and lonely teenage years, which later he would refer to as his “Goth Phase.” He thought of having no friends, and of fucking the first fat, ugly girl that was nice to him one drunken night. He thought of pregnancy tests and quickie weddings, and of a lifetime of anger, resentment and emasculation. He thought of a job at a factory with no promotions and little pay, to support an ungrateful family that he hadn’t wanted in the first place. He thought of divorce and loss, and of his horrible ex taking the one thing he had in this world. He thought of the small town’s city limits, and of how little he had ever ventured out of them. And he thought of movies.
He thought how movies always had an amazing hero, showing courage in impossible situations. He thought of how the hero was always there to save the day, no matter the danger, often with a funny quip thrown out to entertain the audience. He thought of how the hero always got the girl. Not just any girl (and certainly not fat and ugly), but the most beautiful and lovely in the movie! With these thoughts, Harold knew just how unremarkable he truly was. He had never done anything even remotely heroic that anyone would want to look up to, much less make a movie about. He had never done anything noteworthy at all.
With this he realized what he truly wanted, his heart’s true desire. Money and material possessions would all be fleeting and forgotten. What Harold wanted was to live such a remarkable life, that stories about him would last forever.
Harold looked at the Satyr and said, “I wish I could do something so heroic and amazing, that people will never, ever forget me.”
Ah, said the Satyr. A Hero’s Journey. Now that, Harold, is one hell of a wish!
With that, the Satyr blurred out of Harold’s vision and vanished back into the shadows, and the last thing Harold could see from the darkness was... that smile. Harold dizzily made his way back to the house as if in a dream. He stumbled through the kitchen door where the three horrible girls in his life were still eating the giant cake. They did not notice him as he passed them in a daze, collapsed onto the sofa, and fell into a deep sleep.
Three
In which Harold wakes up, and things are worse
In which Harold wakes up, and things are worse
Harold woke up to screaming.
Harold looked up unsure where he was at first, shook the sleep from his head, and realized the screaming was coming from the back yard. There he saw this ex-wife and daughter frantically screaming down the old wishing well. Harold’s granddaughter had fallen in.
“Where have you been?” screamed his horrible ex.
“Don’t just stand there, do something!” screamed his horrible daughter.
“Heeeelp!” screamed his horrible granddaughter.
And so, Harold called 911.
While they waited for the emergency fire and rescue to arrive, Harold received a constant earful of:
“Where were you?”
and
“Why weren't you watching her?”
and
“How could you sleep at a time like this?”
and
“How could you let us live in this death trap of a house?”
and
“This is all your fault!”
and
“Heeeelp me! It hurts really baaaaad!”
When Fire and Rescue arrived, complete with fire trucks, police cruisers, and ambulances, the crews immediately went to work. There were so many people and so much commotion, that he wasn’t sure exactly what everyone there could possibly be doing.
Harold noticed the leader of one of the groups of rescuers setting up a perimeter around the well, holding a harness and recognized him immediately. Even though high school was over twenty-five years ago, he knew this man had been the school’s star quarterback and homecoming king. This was Josh Johnson, the town’s golden boy.
“Don’t worry sir, we’re going to get her out,” said Josh Johnson.
“Oh, I, um…” said Harold
“Look, I’ve got to go to work!” said Josh Johnson, reaching his hand out to shake Harold’s. “I’m just sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”
“Actually,” said Harold, “We went to high school together and have known each other since kindergarten.” But this comment fell on deaf ears, for Josh Johnson had left him and was running towards the old crumbling well.
A loud crunching CRAAACK! from inside the well stopped Josh Johnson and the rescuers in their tracks. Josh Johnson paused and waited a beat. When he heard nothing else, he again started towards the well. Another loud CRUUUNCH! made everyone stop once more. Josh Johnson called everyone around him and they all began to whisper.
Harold couldn’t hear what they were saying, so he started to inch closer. Another loud CREEEEK! came from deep inside the well, and this time Harold’s granddaughter’s screams came along with it, though they seemed to be getting fainter. Josh Johnson turned towards Harold, his face grave. The other rescue workers wouldn’t meet Harold’s gaze.
“We can’t go down that,” said Josh Johnson.
“What are you talking about?” cried Harold, “That’s your job!”
“It’s too dangerous. That well is collapsing in on itself. There is no way the sides can support the rescue harness. It’s an impossible suicide mission. She keeps falling further down. We just can’t do it with the harness. We have to come up with another idea to save your daughter,” said Josh Johnson.
“She’s my granddaughter,” Harold said to no one in particular, because Josh Johnson had already turned away.
Josh Johnson began discussing options with his team when another CRAAAACK! inside the well interrupted him.
“Jeeze, I don’t know about this fellas,” said Josh Johnson. “I can’t ask any of you to do this, but that girl needs some sort of miracle. She needs a hero!”
And suddenly, Harold remembered the Satyr. He stepped forward and said:
“I’ll do it!”
Harold looked up unsure where he was at first, shook the sleep from his head, and realized the screaming was coming from the back yard. There he saw this ex-wife and daughter frantically screaming down the old wishing well. Harold’s granddaughter had fallen in.
“Where have you been?” screamed his horrible ex.
“Don’t just stand there, do something!” screamed his horrible daughter.
“Heeeelp!” screamed his horrible granddaughter.
And so, Harold called 911.
While they waited for the emergency fire and rescue to arrive, Harold received a constant earful of:
“Where were you?”
and
“Why weren't you watching her?”
and
“How could you sleep at a time like this?”
and
“How could you let us live in this death trap of a house?”
and
“This is all your fault!”
and
“Heeeelp me! It hurts really baaaaad!”
When Fire and Rescue arrived, complete with fire trucks, police cruisers, and ambulances, the crews immediately went to work. There were so many people and so much commotion, that he wasn’t sure exactly what everyone there could possibly be doing.
Harold noticed the leader of one of the groups of rescuers setting up a perimeter around the well, holding a harness and recognized him immediately. Even though high school was over twenty-five years ago, he knew this man had been the school’s star quarterback and homecoming king. This was Josh Johnson, the town’s golden boy.
“Don’t worry sir, we’re going to get her out,” said Josh Johnson.
“Oh, I, um…” said Harold
“Look, I’ve got to go to work!” said Josh Johnson, reaching his hand out to shake Harold’s. “I’m just sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”
“Actually,” said Harold, “We went to high school together and have known each other since kindergarten.” But this comment fell on deaf ears, for Josh Johnson had left him and was running towards the old crumbling well.
A loud crunching CRAAACK! from inside the well stopped Josh Johnson and the rescuers in their tracks. Josh Johnson paused and waited a beat. When he heard nothing else, he again started towards the well. Another loud CRUUUNCH! made everyone stop once more. Josh Johnson called everyone around him and they all began to whisper.
Harold couldn’t hear what they were saying, so he started to inch closer. Another loud CREEEEK! came from deep inside the well, and this time Harold’s granddaughter’s screams came along with it, though they seemed to be getting fainter. Josh Johnson turned towards Harold, his face grave. The other rescue workers wouldn’t meet Harold’s gaze.
“We can’t go down that,” said Josh Johnson.
“What are you talking about?” cried Harold, “That’s your job!”
“It’s too dangerous. That well is collapsing in on itself. There is no way the sides can support the rescue harness. It’s an impossible suicide mission. She keeps falling further down. We just can’t do it with the harness. We have to come up with another idea to save your daughter,” said Josh Johnson.
“She’s my granddaughter,” Harold said to no one in particular, because Josh Johnson had already turned away.
Josh Johnson began discussing options with his team when another CRAAAACK! inside the well interrupted him.
“Jeeze, I don’t know about this fellas,” said Josh Johnson. “I can’t ask any of you to do this, but that girl needs some sort of miracle. She needs a hero!”
And suddenly, Harold remembered the Satyr. He stepped forward and said:
“I’ll do it!”
Four
In which Harold finally makes some tough choices for once in his life
In which Harold finally makes some tough choices for once in his life
In less than two minutes, Harold was strapped in. All the workers were looking at him with awe. His ex-wife and daughter gazed at him with faces of gratitude, compassion, and love, looks that he hadn’t seen in a long time, if ever. Even Josh Johnson looked at him with admiration and respect. It was almost enough to forget about the harness digging uncomfortably into his crotch.
“What you’re doing… what you’re risking…” Josh Johnson’s voice cracked and trailed off. He then tightened his jaw, extended his hand and said, “Sir, I’d like to shake your hand.”
Harold’s ex-wife and daughter began to weep.
Harold looked at Josh Johnson, nodded once and said, “Ready!”
As Harold began his descent, he heard his ex-wife and daughter yell out how much they loved him, and he thought he heard Josh Johnson tell one of his crew that Harold looked familiar and that he was pretty sure that he went to high school with him.
The voices muffled into silence as Harold lowered himself down into the darkness of the old crumbling well. CRAAAACK! A large chunk of the well came off the side and zoomed down past Harold, barely missing the top of his head. He heard a loud crash as it hit the bottom.
“How deep is this thing?” he wondered aloud. He didn’t allow himself to think of whether or not that giant chunk of rock landed on his granddaughter, even though it had been quite some time since he heard her cries.
Deeper and deeper he descended, with only his headlamp to guide him. The darkness of the well threatened to consume him, but he was feeling proud of how well he was handling it. After all, this was his “Hero's Journey.”
Deeper he descended, his headlamp flickering on and off, and he thought of how his wife and daughter had looked at him. Well, ex-wife, for now, but after this rescue, she would be sure to take him back.
Deeper he descended, and he thought of the look of admiration on Josh Johnson’s face. When this was over, Harold would be the town’s new and improved golden boy.
As he continued down, impossibly deep, chunks of the well flew past him, missing him by inches. They no longer worried him, and he no longer heard them. All he could think was about how he got his wish; he was a hero. Stories would be written about him. More importantly, movies would be made about him. Harold was wondering which A-list Hollywood actor would best play him, when he hit the bottom with a THUD.
His headlamp continued to flicker on and off, so he had to feel his way towards his granddaughter.
“Grandpa, is that you?” came a weak voice next to him. Harold turned, tapping the headlamp to get it to work properly. It gave off a slow motion, strobe light effect, but it was enough to find his granddaughter.
“Oh, my god…” whispered Harold.
“Grandpa, I can’t feel my legs.”
Harold looked upon the most gruesome injury he had ever seen. The falling rocks had completely shattered his granddaughter from the waist down. Her back was twisted into an unnatural angle. A rock had clearly dented a small part of her skull, and blood was oozing out. It didn’t help that with the headlamp flickering on and off, it was giving the scene a real horror movie vibe.
“Grandpa?”
“How the hell are you not dead?” asked Harold.
Magic, a voice whispered behind. The magic of your wish is keeping her alive.
Harold turned and saw a toothy grin in the shadows. The flickering headlamp showed a slow-motion swirl and the Satyr emerged forward from the darkness.
“So, it was real,” said Harold, removing his harness.
Of course, said the Satyr. Now we complete the terms of the wish. Let’s rescue your beautiful granddaughter. And through the magic of your wish, she will magically be healed by the time she reaches the top of the well. She will forever look to you as her hero, for giving your life for hers.
“Terms?” asked Harold, as he carefully tied the rope of the harness around his granddaughters broken waist. “Wait… did you say I give my life for hers?”
Oh yes, said the Satyr, gently turning Harold’s granddaughter on her side, so Harold could tie off the ends of the rope. This cave is collapsing. Only one can make it out. There is not enough wish magic to heal your granddaughter and get you both out.
“Oh,” said Harold.
“I can’t feel my butt…” whispered Harold’s granddaughter.
Do not fret, said the Satyr. For this heroic deed, you will be remembered forever. For this ultimate sacrifice, books and plays will be written. Everyone will know of the bravery, courage, and love between a simple man named Harold and his granddaughter.
“Um,” said Harold.
“Grandpa please…” whispered Harold’s granddaughter.
And, continued the Satyr, there will even be a movie! It will be a massive blockbuster! It will win several Academy Awards and make so much money that your ex-wife, daughter, and granddaughter will never have to worry about money again! The course of your family tree will forever be altered, thanks to this one selfless heroic act.
“Well,” said Harold, “at least I’ll be able to look down from heaven to see the good that I’ve done for my family.”
“I think I’m touching my exposed brain…” said Harold’s granddaughter.
What? Said the Satyr, bursting out with laughter. Heaven? Are you insane? What are you a child? No Heaven!
“You… you mean, I’m going to Hell?” asked Harold.
No, no, no, said the Satyr. I didn’t say “Not Heaven.” I said “No Heaven.” As in, there is no Heaven, or Hell, or afterlife of any sort.
“So, there’s just nothing?” asked Harold.
“Grandpa, when are we going to…?”
“Shut up child!” Harold interrupted. “So, there is nothing? Nothing waiting for me on the other side?”
That is my understanding, yes, said the Satyr. Nada, zip, zilch, zero.
“So, what happens to me when I die?”
Well, you just, kind of, cease to exist, said the Satyr.
“So, I become this great hero, gain international fame and fortune, and I’m not going to even exist in any form to actually enjoy it?
Well yeah, said the Satyr. That pretty well sums it up.
Harold looked at his granddaughter, headlamp still flickering. He looked up at the impossible distance to the top. “I could be a hero,” he whispered aloud, as the walls of the well roared again.
He again looked down at his granddaughter, twisted and broken. She was babbling incoherently. That dent in her skull had certainly done a lot of damage, and her legs and spine looked even worse than when he first got here. Just tying the rope of the harness around her waist had made everything even worse. He looked to the Satyr, but the Satyr was gone. Harold was alone with his granddaughter.
He looked back down to his granddaughter and began to loosen the rope around her waist. “Even if the wish magic could heal you, you probably wouldn’t ever be normal,” Harold justified.
“Hurts…. Help me please,” gurgled Harold’s granddaughter, as blood spat out her mouth.
“Shush now, sweet child,” said Harold as he moved the rope up and around her torso.
Harold continued to raise the rope, and stopped when it reached her neck. Harold paused, weighing his options, then made a decision:
Harold tightened the rope with all his strength, crushing his granddaughter’s throat, squeezing the life from her.
“GRANDPA, NO!” Harold’s granddaughter tried to scream. “NO!”
“Just let go baby, just let go,” whispered Harold, grunting with effort from tugging on the ropes with all his might.
At last, his granddaughter stopped fighting, and Harold could let go.
Harold put the harness back on and tugged on the rope to signal the rescuers to bring him back up. The headlamp finally flickered out, and he was grateful. He didn’t want to be tempted to look down to see what he had done. Harold was in complete darkness as the rescue workers began to pull him up to the top of the well. This didn’t bother him. He was too dazed from the moment, realizing what he had done. He could hear the walls of the well collapsing around him. He could feel the wind of each brick flying past him. He didn’t much care. He wasn’t worried in the least. Somehow, he was sure he would make it out. Only enough wish magic for one of you, the Satyr had said.
On the way up, Harold thought of how he had to make sure he had his story straight. He would tell them all that when he got down there she was close to death, and that their final moments together were full of “I love you” being passed back and forth. His ex-wife and daughter would cry and scream and fall down, and Harold would rush to their sides, and finally be the strong man that they needed. Josh Johnson would clap him on the back and call him a hero, and offer him a job working for search and rescue, and he would make sure Harold became the guest of honor at their next high school reunion. Main Street would be renamed Harold Street, and even though the ending was tragic, Harold had heroically gone into that well when no one else would.
Harold thought all these things as he emerged from the top of the well. His eyes were too used to the dark, so the sunlight blurred his vision and he stumbled out of the top just as a loud rip came from the inside and the entire well collapsed in on itself. Harold had made it out, but just barely.
Still blinded as his eyes tried to get used to the light, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. When I got down to the bottom, she was hurt too badly…”
Harold heard nothing, so he continued, “Guys? Hello? As I was saying she was barely alive, only had time to tell me…”
“Just shut up!” screamed a voice that he knew was his ex-wife.
Harold looked around and his eyes began to focus, getting used to the light. He saw them all standing around him. He saw his daughter, looking at him with wide eyes, tears running down her cheeks. He saw Josh Johnson looking at him with a horrified expression. He saw his ex-wife, bubbling with absolute rage.
“Look,” said Harold, “I tried to get her, but it was too late…”
“Just shut up!” screamed his ex-wife once again. “We heard you sick fuck! We heard everything! We heard her screaming and fighting as you strangled her to death!”
“Oh shit,” said Harold
“What you’re doing… what you’re risking…” Josh Johnson’s voice cracked and trailed off. He then tightened his jaw, extended his hand and said, “Sir, I’d like to shake your hand.”
Harold’s ex-wife and daughter began to weep.
Harold looked at Josh Johnson, nodded once and said, “Ready!”
As Harold began his descent, he heard his ex-wife and daughter yell out how much they loved him, and he thought he heard Josh Johnson tell one of his crew that Harold looked familiar and that he was pretty sure that he went to high school with him.
The voices muffled into silence as Harold lowered himself down into the darkness of the old crumbling well. CRAAAACK! A large chunk of the well came off the side and zoomed down past Harold, barely missing the top of his head. He heard a loud crash as it hit the bottom.
“How deep is this thing?” he wondered aloud. He didn’t allow himself to think of whether or not that giant chunk of rock landed on his granddaughter, even though it had been quite some time since he heard her cries.
Deeper and deeper he descended, with only his headlamp to guide him. The darkness of the well threatened to consume him, but he was feeling proud of how well he was handling it. After all, this was his “Hero's Journey.”
Deeper he descended, his headlamp flickering on and off, and he thought of how his wife and daughter had looked at him. Well, ex-wife, for now, but after this rescue, she would be sure to take him back.
Deeper he descended, and he thought of the look of admiration on Josh Johnson’s face. When this was over, Harold would be the town’s new and improved golden boy.
As he continued down, impossibly deep, chunks of the well flew past him, missing him by inches. They no longer worried him, and he no longer heard them. All he could think was about how he got his wish; he was a hero. Stories would be written about him. More importantly, movies would be made about him. Harold was wondering which A-list Hollywood actor would best play him, when he hit the bottom with a THUD.
His headlamp continued to flicker on and off, so he had to feel his way towards his granddaughter.
“Grandpa, is that you?” came a weak voice next to him. Harold turned, tapping the headlamp to get it to work properly. It gave off a slow motion, strobe light effect, but it was enough to find his granddaughter.
“Oh, my god…” whispered Harold.
“Grandpa, I can’t feel my legs.”
Harold looked upon the most gruesome injury he had ever seen. The falling rocks had completely shattered his granddaughter from the waist down. Her back was twisted into an unnatural angle. A rock had clearly dented a small part of her skull, and blood was oozing out. It didn’t help that with the headlamp flickering on and off, it was giving the scene a real horror movie vibe.
“Grandpa?”
“How the hell are you not dead?” asked Harold.
Magic, a voice whispered behind. The magic of your wish is keeping her alive.
Harold turned and saw a toothy grin in the shadows. The flickering headlamp showed a slow-motion swirl and the Satyr emerged forward from the darkness.
“So, it was real,” said Harold, removing his harness.
Of course, said the Satyr. Now we complete the terms of the wish. Let’s rescue your beautiful granddaughter. And through the magic of your wish, she will magically be healed by the time she reaches the top of the well. She will forever look to you as her hero, for giving your life for hers.
“Terms?” asked Harold, as he carefully tied the rope of the harness around his granddaughters broken waist. “Wait… did you say I give my life for hers?”
Oh yes, said the Satyr, gently turning Harold’s granddaughter on her side, so Harold could tie off the ends of the rope. This cave is collapsing. Only one can make it out. There is not enough wish magic to heal your granddaughter and get you both out.
“Oh,” said Harold.
“I can’t feel my butt…” whispered Harold’s granddaughter.
Do not fret, said the Satyr. For this heroic deed, you will be remembered forever. For this ultimate sacrifice, books and plays will be written. Everyone will know of the bravery, courage, and love between a simple man named Harold and his granddaughter.
“Um,” said Harold.
“Grandpa please…” whispered Harold’s granddaughter.
And, continued the Satyr, there will even be a movie! It will be a massive blockbuster! It will win several Academy Awards and make so much money that your ex-wife, daughter, and granddaughter will never have to worry about money again! The course of your family tree will forever be altered, thanks to this one selfless heroic act.
“Well,” said Harold, “at least I’ll be able to look down from heaven to see the good that I’ve done for my family.”
“I think I’m touching my exposed brain…” said Harold’s granddaughter.
What? Said the Satyr, bursting out with laughter. Heaven? Are you insane? What are you a child? No Heaven!
“You… you mean, I’m going to Hell?” asked Harold.
No, no, no, said the Satyr. I didn’t say “Not Heaven.” I said “No Heaven.” As in, there is no Heaven, or Hell, or afterlife of any sort.
“So, there’s just nothing?” asked Harold.
“Grandpa, when are we going to…?”
“Shut up child!” Harold interrupted. “So, there is nothing? Nothing waiting for me on the other side?”
That is my understanding, yes, said the Satyr. Nada, zip, zilch, zero.
“So, what happens to me when I die?”
Well, you just, kind of, cease to exist, said the Satyr.
“So, I become this great hero, gain international fame and fortune, and I’m not going to even exist in any form to actually enjoy it?
Well yeah, said the Satyr. That pretty well sums it up.
Harold looked at his granddaughter, headlamp still flickering. He looked up at the impossible distance to the top. “I could be a hero,” he whispered aloud, as the walls of the well roared again.
He again looked down at his granddaughter, twisted and broken. She was babbling incoherently. That dent in her skull had certainly done a lot of damage, and her legs and spine looked even worse than when he first got here. Just tying the rope of the harness around her waist had made everything even worse. He looked to the Satyr, but the Satyr was gone. Harold was alone with his granddaughter.
He looked back down to his granddaughter and began to loosen the rope around her waist. “Even if the wish magic could heal you, you probably wouldn’t ever be normal,” Harold justified.
“Hurts…. Help me please,” gurgled Harold’s granddaughter, as blood spat out her mouth.
“Shush now, sweet child,” said Harold as he moved the rope up and around her torso.
Harold continued to raise the rope, and stopped when it reached her neck. Harold paused, weighing his options, then made a decision:
Harold tightened the rope with all his strength, crushing his granddaughter’s throat, squeezing the life from her.
“GRANDPA, NO!” Harold’s granddaughter tried to scream. “NO!”
“Just let go baby, just let go,” whispered Harold, grunting with effort from tugging on the ropes with all his might.
At last, his granddaughter stopped fighting, and Harold could let go.
Harold put the harness back on and tugged on the rope to signal the rescuers to bring him back up. The headlamp finally flickered out, and he was grateful. He didn’t want to be tempted to look down to see what he had done. Harold was in complete darkness as the rescue workers began to pull him up to the top of the well. This didn’t bother him. He was too dazed from the moment, realizing what he had done. He could hear the walls of the well collapsing around him. He could feel the wind of each brick flying past him. He didn’t much care. He wasn’t worried in the least. Somehow, he was sure he would make it out. Only enough wish magic for one of you, the Satyr had said.
On the way up, Harold thought of how he had to make sure he had his story straight. He would tell them all that when he got down there she was close to death, and that their final moments together were full of “I love you” being passed back and forth. His ex-wife and daughter would cry and scream and fall down, and Harold would rush to their sides, and finally be the strong man that they needed. Josh Johnson would clap him on the back and call him a hero, and offer him a job working for search and rescue, and he would make sure Harold became the guest of honor at their next high school reunion. Main Street would be renamed Harold Street, and even though the ending was tragic, Harold had heroically gone into that well when no one else would.
Harold thought all these things as he emerged from the top of the well. His eyes were too used to the dark, so the sunlight blurred his vision and he stumbled out of the top just as a loud rip came from the inside and the entire well collapsed in on itself. Harold had made it out, but just barely.
Still blinded as his eyes tried to get used to the light, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. When I got down to the bottom, she was hurt too badly…”
Harold heard nothing, so he continued, “Guys? Hello? As I was saying she was barely alive, only had time to tell me…”
“Just shut up!” screamed a voice that he knew was his ex-wife.
Harold looked around and his eyes began to focus, getting used to the light. He saw them all standing around him. He saw his daughter, looking at him with wide eyes, tears running down her cheeks. He saw Josh Johnson looking at him with a horrified expression. He saw his ex-wife, bubbling with absolute rage.
“Look,” said Harold, “I tried to get her, but it was too late…”
“Just shut up!” screamed his ex-wife once again. “We heard you sick fuck! We heard everything! We heard her screaming and fighting as you strangled her to death!”
“Oh shit,” said Harold
Five
In which Harold is forgotten
In which Harold is forgotten
Harold sat in the electric chair, awaiting his execution. This was to be the final day of his unremarkable life.
No one had come to visit Harold on death row, not even the press. Great lengths had been taken by the people who had been there that day to make sure nothing about this story would get out into the public domain. No one wanted there to be even a chance that Harold would become famous for his terrible deed. There were dark places on the internet that would surely bestow a kind of honor on him for his horrible act, so the emergency personnel made a pact that no one would ever speak of that day. No one would try to write a book about it and no one would even tell their children. No one would profit off this tragedy, and Harold would never become a legend. Harold would be forgotten.
Harold sat in the electric chair waiting. He looked out into the observation room on the other side of the glass. He saw only three people, the executioner, the priest and the state’s witness. And the state’s witness was only there because he had to be according to the law. The rest of the room was empty chairs.
No one had come to see him off, not even out of anger or hatred. Not his daughter. Not Josh Johnson. Not even Harold’s ex, who had moved on with her life long ago. No one person in Harold’s small town could even muster enough negative emotion for Harold to make the time to see him fry. He was just… forgotten.
He looked out to the empty chairs and said, “Yeah, that’s about right.”
He saw that the preacher was reading from the New Testament. “Ha! Shows how little you know!” said Harold to no one in particular.
He looked past the two rows of empty chairs and saw a shadow. Harold realized that the shadow had horns.
The state’s witness was standing fuller at attention now, as the executioner began to fiddle with some levers and buttons. A loud buzzing started in Harold’s ears. It was time.
Harold looked out past the empty chairs to the shadow with goat horns. In the shadow, he saw a smile with sharp white teeth, even though he logically knew that was impossible. Shadows didn’t have teeth.
The preacher continued reading out loud, the state’s witness made notes in his notebook, and the executioner pulled another knob, and the buzzing grew louder in Harold’s ears, and his head began to feel warm.
The horned shadow’s smile began to move as if it were talking, and even though it was behind glass and there was a loud, hot buzzing in his ears, Harold could hear it clearly say:
I tried to warn you! Be careful what you wish for...
No one had come to visit Harold on death row, not even the press. Great lengths had been taken by the people who had been there that day to make sure nothing about this story would get out into the public domain. No one wanted there to be even a chance that Harold would become famous for his terrible deed. There were dark places on the internet that would surely bestow a kind of honor on him for his horrible act, so the emergency personnel made a pact that no one would ever speak of that day. No one would try to write a book about it and no one would even tell their children. No one would profit off this tragedy, and Harold would never become a legend. Harold would be forgotten.
Harold sat in the electric chair waiting. He looked out into the observation room on the other side of the glass. He saw only three people, the executioner, the priest and the state’s witness. And the state’s witness was only there because he had to be according to the law. The rest of the room was empty chairs.
No one had come to see him off, not even out of anger or hatred. Not his daughter. Not Josh Johnson. Not even Harold’s ex, who had moved on with her life long ago. No one person in Harold’s small town could even muster enough negative emotion for Harold to make the time to see him fry. He was just… forgotten.
He looked out to the empty chairs and said, “Yeah, that’s about right.”
He saw that the preacher was reading from the New Testament. “Ha! Shows how little you know!” said Harold to no one in particular.
He looked past the two rows of empty chairs and saw a shadow. Harold realized that the shadow had horns.
The state’s witness was standing fuller at attention now, as the executioner began to fiddle with some levers and buttons. A loud buzzing started in Harold’s ears. It was time.
Harold looked out past the empty chairs to the shadow with goat horns. In the shadow, he saw a smile with sharp white teeth, even though he logically knew that was impossible. Shadows didn’t have teeth.
The preacher continued reading out loud, the state’s witness made notes in his notebook, and the executioner pulled another knob, and the buzzing grew louder in Harold’s ears, and his head began to feel warm.
The horned shadow’s smile began to move as if it were talking, and even though it was behind glass and there was a loud, hot buzzing in his ears, Harold could hear it clearly say:
I tried to warn you! Be careful what you wish for...
