I was at the bottom of the well when I asked you to save me.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt the sun touch my skin, or the last time that I felt the wind on my face. The day and night passed by me like acquaintances. I had just about given up when a shadow obscured my tiny aerial window. I looked up, and you were there, smiling. You called down into the well where I was sitting, and I thought you were brighter than the sun. You asked me what you could do for me. I asked you to save me.
The first time I asked, you told me to climb up the sides of the well. I told you I couldn't.
"The stones look like they're sturdy enough," you said. "It's not that bad. Just try."
No, I told you, I couldn't. I asked you to save me.
The second time I asked, you said you would get a rope for me. I told you that I couldn't climb it. You lowered it down into that dark place and I could only stare at it in bewilderment. You were so unhappy with me; you called me names. But I asked you to save me.
The third time I asked, you told me a story. You told me about how you'd been in the well before once. That was how you knew about the stones and exactly how long the rope had to be. I listened intently as you told me about how you used to see the sky as I do, about how the sun and the moon became forgotten acquaintances from an age past for you. You told me stories about how much bluer the sky was up there, how much greener the grass was; you told me about the sea and all the beautiful people up there. I believed you, but I still asked you to save me.
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Finally, you got tired of my asking. I knew this because after the third time, I never saw you again. I heard your voice in passing, echoing either down the chambers of the well or in the back of my own mind -- I couldn't tell the difference anymore. I didn't tell you this because I was afraid. Of what, I wasn't sure. That maybe you would give up when you heard it, but I guess that doesn't matter now.
Before you found me, I had tried to escape. I had tried to claw at the walls until my arms had been whittled down to the bone; and after that, I had tried my feet. I couldn't climb because there was nothing left of me to do so with. I had spent all of my energy trying futilely to save myself.
I forgive you, but I asked you to save me.
