He That Lives Upon Hope Will Die Fasting

“He that lives upon hope will die fasting.” -Benjamin Franklin “The Way to Wealth”


        It had been two days, or had it been three? George Pellington had been stuck in a well for somewhere between two and three days. He had been sauntering to the marketplace through his shortcut in the private woods when the owner heard him and chased him in what soon became a fierce fox hunt. George took a sharp turn and while looking back for the angry landowner, accidentally tripped and fell in the wide, stone well.

“Help! Someone help! If you can hear me, HEEELP!” George called out yet another time. His voice was strained from his constant plea to be saved. Growwwl. To make matters worse, his stomach was constantly growling. Life would be so much easier if he actually liked and tolerated drinking water. He had been living in a shallow pool of water for the past couple days and hadn’t used it to his advantage. He hoped that his family would realize that he never came home with that week’s groceries and set out to find him, but he had no idea if they did. Either way, he decided to continue living on the assumption that his loving family would find him.

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        “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Charles screamed as he fell into what seemed to be a deep hole in the ground.
        “SPLASH!” the water sounded as Charles plummeted into a deep collection of water. Charles gasped for air and reached around for a wall to cling to. As his arms flailed around, he found his briefcase that had apparently fallen along with him. Looking for a position that would suspend him over the water, Charles pulled his legs up and pushed against the well with his back on one side, and feet on the other. It had all happened so quickly; he regrouped himself and began analyzing the events that had just taken place.
        Charles Westford was a real estate agent, a quite successful one at that. While showing a house to a prospective family, one of the five kids decided to wander off and it wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that the parents noticed. Being the responsible and superb agent he was, Charles volunteered to search for the boy. He made his way towards the dense forest, calling out for the boy. Through the corner of his eye, Charles saw movement in the thicket and started toward the rustling.
        “I know you’re in there. Better come out; your family’s worried.” Charles said to the thicket. He pushed past the bush branches to the other side and came face to face with a bear.
        “Whoa there, don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you. Please don’t hurt me; I didn’t mean to disrupt you.” Charles muttered as he backed away from the bear.
        “Rooaaar!” The bear snarled as he took a few threatening steps towards Charles. He lunged backwards, misplacing his foot and falling into the cold, wet well.

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        George waited.
He had given up on calling for help, because each time he called out, he only felt more and more alone. The stubborn man still refrained from drinking the well water and lived off of the soggy graham crackers that were stored in his pocket. He waited for a familiar voice to call out his name, but it never happened.

George waited.

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        The first night Charles stayed in that well was terrifying. After yelling out for help for most of the afternoon and evening, he had nothing else to do but figure out his living plan for the time being. Using his rudimentary pocketknife, Charles loosened two of the cement bricks as placement for his feet in his suspended position. Still clinging to the wall, he picked out a large brick and managed to pull it out halfway, acting as a sturdy seat while he sat in the suspended position. The fact he was a still sleeper probably saved him from drowning in his sleep that night.

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        George was so hungry. He finished off his graham crackers a couple hours before and had never felt the anguish of being so hungry. Looking back, he began to regret not drinking or using the water earlier, as it was now soiled and gross. Why hadn’t his family members found him yet? What was taking them so long? Why was he SO hungry?
        “WHERE IS EVERYONE?” George’s voice resonated from the well into the emptiness. His hope began to diminish.

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        The blisters on his fingers didn’t stop him from continuing on. Charles slowly and meticulously chipped away the mortar holding the bricks together. He hadn’t eaten for two days, but had a coffee cup full of water from the first night. He remained suspended about three feet above the water, having climbed three feet in the two days he had spent in the torturous well. His pocketknife had become dull from being slammed against the stubborn wall but remained useful as he made gaps large enough to scale the wall.

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        Sitting drenched on the bottom of the well, George felt his head throbbing and burning. The sudden change between the hot rays of sun shining down on him and the chill he felt from being in the shadows made George nauseous. He curled up in a ball for the night and dozed off feeling lonely and terribly empty. Still, he hoped someone would notice his disappearance and just waited.

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        Half a foot. That’s all Charles had left before he could reach the mouth of the well. His close proximity to freedom fueled him to work faster and more diligently than before. Being stuck in a well was enough motivation for him to try and get out, but the closeness to his escape was more motivation than he could ever imagine.
        “Kerk-kerk-kerk.” Charles’s pocketknife pounded against the mortar. With every step he moved up, he could feel his determination rising and his strength regaining. He put his foot in the last step and, using all the energy that remained in his body, pushed himself up. He peeked his head out and was surprised by the immense color he saw compared to the dreary well he’d been looking at for the last four days.

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        George hadn’t moved for the past... for a long time. He wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep, probably a little bit of both. He sat there at the bottom of the well and told himself to never stop wishing and hoping to be saved; it was literally his only chance of survival.

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        “Beep...beep...beep.” sounded the heart monitor standing next to Charles’ bed. He looked around the white room, noticing the complicated electronics, and suddenly realized he was in a hospital room. To his side, he saw the “Call for Assistance” button and pushed it. A doctor walked in with the stereotypical stethoscope around her neck and clipboard in hand.
        “Hello Mr. Westford, I see you’re awake.  I’m Dr. Riley. You probably want to know what happened.” The doctor asked in a soft and comforting voice. Charles nodded, urging her to continue.

“Well, an animal control agent called in for an ambulance two days ago because he claimed he saw a man, you, unconscious next to a well. When our paramedics arrived, they saw that your briefcase was still in the well and some bricks were pulled out. We assume you were stuck in that well, am I correct?” he nodded again.

        “Do you know who the caller was?” Charles questioned, “I’d like to thank them for saving me.”
        “I’m afraid I don’t, but I think you should be pretty proud of yourself for taking action and getting out of the well.” the doctor replied with praise. Her tone, however, suddenly became serious. “You were in there for four days; if you had spent another day in that well, you probably wouldn’t have survived.”
        “You know what’s strange though?” Dr. Riley asked Charles. “Thirty years ago from the day you were brought in, a man was also found in a well. He, however, didn’t make it.”
        “Who was this? And why not?” Charles asked inquisitively.
        “He was just found at the bottom of a well, dead. Most people said he was too dehydrated and just starved to death. Others say he simply relied too much on hope. His name was George Pellington.”