Felix's Fall

Felix’s Fall

Martin Maynard

It was raining coins, once again.

The townsfolk of Prospera had a secret. The secret was the Well of Fortuna, an old well at the heart of the market square. A well dug many, many years ago, but hasn’t been used for water for almost as long. The townsfolk, according to the earliest written histories of the town, have been flipping coins into the well, with a wish on their breath. While many doubted the miraculous claims, there were just as many who wholeheartedly believed. They were seen casting their silver and gold coins into the old wishing well, hoping to exchange metal for miracles.

Prospera is a city that thrives on the edge of paradox, nestled between the bountiful sea and the fertile lands of the hinterlands. Its architecture is a harmonious blend of the old and the new, where cobblestone streets wind their way between sleek glass towers and ancient, ivy-clad buildings. The city's heart is the Grand Plaza, a bustling marketplace by day, filled with the vibrant colors of fresh produce and the rich scents of spices and sea salt, transforming into a tapestry of lights and music as dusk falls.

The wealth of Prospera is legendary, attributed by many to the mysterious well. The city’s economy thrives on trade, its ports teeming with ships from distant lands, their sails a testament to the city's role as a global crossroads. The markets overflow with exotic goods, and the air is filled with a cacophony of languages, as deals are struck and fortunes made. Yet, despite its wealth, the city is marked by a sense of community and shared joy, with festivals and celebrations a common sight, reflecting the diverse heritage of its inhabitants.

Felix was not one of the wealthy, and he was also not one who believed in the postulated power of the well. Once a prosperous merchant whose fortunes had dwindled to dust and debt, watched enviously as others tossed their luck into the well, whispering desires for health, wealth, and happiness.

Felix watched from the shadows of his failing stall as the townsfolk of Prospera made their daily pilgrimage to the wishing well. Each toss of a coin, each hopeful glance cast towards the murky depths, grated against his fraying nerves. To Felix, these were not acts of faith or tradition; they were the squandering of perfectly good currency- a currency that clinked and clattered down into oblivion while he counted his losses and tallied his debts.

At first, his disdain was tinged with a sense of superiority. He scoffed under his breath, mocking their naivety, their blind adherence to an old wives' tale. "Fools," he'd mutter, "parting with their money for a whisper and a wish." But as his own coffers emptied and his shelves grew barren, that disdain soured into envy.

He began to notice the small smiles, the lightness in their step as they walked away from the well, their faith unshaken, their spirits buoyed by the act of casting their fortunes into the unknown. Felix's envy twisted into a bitter resentment. How could they afford such frivolity, such wasteful optimism, when he sat on the brink of ruin? Didn't they see the real need right in front of them, the tangible difference their coins could make if only they chose to see it? He’d gladly catch their proffered flips of the coins if they ever came his way. Actually, he’d even offer a blessing to each and every one of them, knowing that a blessing from him would be just as useful as the wishes to the well.

His resentment boiled over into anger as the days passed. He watched them—merchants with their purses, mothers with their children, young lovers hand in hand—all of them tossing their coins, their chances at prosperity, into the stone maw of the well. "Idiots!" he wanted to scream. "Your charity is misplaced, your beliefs misguided. Give to those who need, not to the empty promises of a hole in the ground!"

Each clink of coin on stone was a taunt, a reminder of what could have been his. The coins that vanished into the well's depths could have saved his business, could have put food on his table, could have spared him the nights of endless worry. In his eyes, they weren't just wasting their money; they were stealing his chances, robbing him of his last hopes with their blind faith in miracles.

Felix's anger seethed within him, a boiling pot of frustration and despair. He saw their acts of faith not as a comforting ritual but as a personal affront, a community deluded by folklore, throwing away their wealth—wealth that he, in his desperation, could have turned into salvation. In the depths of his resentment, Felix failed to see the comfort they found in their tradition, the strength they drew from a collective belief in something greater, something benevolent. All he saw was the waste, the folly, and the unfairness of it all, blind to everything but his own spiraling fortunes.

Desperation clawed at him, a relentless specter that whispered of drastic measures for drastic times.

Under the cloak of night, when the market streets lay silent and deserted, Felix made his way to the well. The moon, a sliver of silver in the dark sky, cast long shadows as he began his descent, the rope coarse and unforgiving in his hands. Halfway down, his foot slipped, sending him plummeting into the cold, coin-filled depths below.

The impact was not against water, but a hard, metallic surface that seemed to ripple with a life of its own. As Felix's skin made contact with the coins, a torrent of anguish washed over him, each coin a conduit for a soul's deepest despair. The diseases they wished away wracked his body, the heartbreaks they sought to mend tore through his heart, and the myriad misfortunes they hoped to reverse twisted his mind into a labyrinth of suffering.

Each coin he touched brought with it a memory, a vivid reliving of the moments before relief came. He felt the weight of a farmer's dread as crops failed, the sharp pang of a crippled child, and the hollow despair of a lover's rejection, each as real and acute as if they were his own.

In this well of wishes, Felix understood the true cost of the townsfolk's miracles. The well, he realized, did not simply grant wishes; it transferred the misfortunes it took onto the coins, waiting for someone, someday, to bear their burden.

Trapped in the well with the weight of countless sorrows, Felix faced a harrowing choice: to climb out with the coins and the woes they carried or to leave empty-handed, his own desires unfulfilled but his soul unburdened. In this moment of reckoning, Felix discovered the intricate tapestry of fate and fortune, understanding at last that luck was not a commodity to be stolen but a cycle of give and take, of balance and restitution.

He continued to grasp the handfuls of life-saving coins, which had turned into life-wrenching pain. His hopes and dreams collided with the displaced torture and anguish that the well was contributing. Just when he thought he’d had enough of the misery, he’d remember the misery he was in before he descended. It was a misery he’d return to if he left empty-handed. Vacillating for hours, Felix finally had enough. He hadn’t gained money, but he had gained insight.

As the midnight bells tolled, Felix emerged from the well, not as a thief laden with gold, but as a man humbled by the profound interconnectedness of human suffering and compassion. His quest for wealth had led him instead to a wealth of understanding, a realization that the true nature of luck lay not in the coins that fell from the sky, but in the shared fortunes of the community that weathered life's storms together.

As Felix trudged back to his modest home, the weight of the world seemed to press down on his shoulders, his heart heavy with the sorrow and suffering he had unwittingly brought upon himself from the wishing well. The once simple act of climbing into bed beside his wife, a source of solace in his troubled times, became the catalyst for a nightmarish unraveling of their lives.

As he lay beside her, trying to find comfort in the familiar warmth of her body, his wife stirred. The moment her skin brushed against his, a sharp gasp escaped her lips, quickly morphing into agonized shrieks that tore through the silence of the night like a blade. Her body writhed in torment, a mirror to the multitude of sufferings Felix had experienced at the bottom of the well, each of her screams a testament to the pain that now coursed through her as well.

The commotion pierced the tranquility of Prospera's sleeping streets, rousing neighbors from their beds, their concern morphing into horror as they gathered around Felix's home, bearing witness to a pain that seemed unfathomable.

When the city healer arrived, her presence was a beacon of hope in the chaos. As she approached the bed to administer her salve, Felix’s daughter, enduring her own wretchedness at seeing her mother in such discomfort, leaned in to kiss her mother’s forehead. The moment her lips brushed the skin of her mother’s brow, she too was overcome. The daughter, a pillar of strength and aspiration in the community, crumpled under the invisible weight of the shared anguish, her sobs joining the cacophony of grief that filled the room. Recognizing the significance, the healer slowly backed away, stopping anyone else from entering the room.

In that moment, Felix realized the catastrophic nature of his actions. The suffering he had drawn from the well, intended to be his alone to bear, had become a virulent contagion, spreading to those he touched, those he loved. It wasn't merely a transfer of pain from the coins to himself; it was an amplification, a dark resonance that multiplied with every contact, leaving devastation in its wake.

Felix pleaded with everyone around to leave. To stay as far away from them as possible. Through trembling lips and agonizing torture, Felix explained what he had done, his actions that led to this atrocity. As the night wore on, a grim understanding settled over the gathering outside Felix's home – Felix, his wife, and their daughter were now the untouchables.

Instead of grabbing coins, the neighbors seized boards and nails, and through the night, the townsfolk entombed the unfortunate three inside their home.