The Lord's Penny Well

The first penny went into the Well 3 years ago, on a beautiful summer day when the air was filled with the scent of blooming honeysuckle. I can still feel the gentle weight of the red-and-white mayoral sash draped over my shoulder, savoring the heady feeling of having finally been elected after months of political scheming.

No sooner did the coin leave my hand when a chorus of applause broke out throughout the clearing, joining the frantic click, click of photographers jostling to grab my picture. Waving regally at the crowd, a smile beaming on my face, I closed my eyes to savor the deafening chorus of “Mayor Burke! Mayor Burke!”.

Grateful as always, I sent up a silent prayer of Thanks to the Lord of Luck, my protector and custodian. In response, I heard just the faintest splash as the coin made impact with the water. Exhilarated, I opened my eyes, basking in the assurance that the Lord was with me, ever-ready to help me clutch my dreams.

That was 3 years ago, when the Lord of Luck was still with me. The Office of the Mayor was not a position to be taken lightly, and I had to work harder than ever to do right by the citizens of my town. So I found myself trekking through the forest and stopping by the Well frequently, often under the cover of midnight when no one was out and about.

I would fumble for a penny in my pocket, rub it, and drop it into the Well with my eyes closed, praying that the Lord would help me finish drafting my budget proposal, or guide me when leading the next council meeting, or put in a good word for me with the Board of Trade.

The Well was deep – no one knew exactly how many feet – and I would wait agonizingly until I heard the distant splash at the bottom. Breathing a sigh of relief, I would know that the Lord of Luck had heard me.

And I shit you not, everything would go perfectly.

Now, I couldn’t tell you exactly when the Lord started ignoring me, but it must have been about a year after I’d gotten elected. A builder proposed a major development project in a 200-acre reserve of forest which had been publicly protected for the last 15 years. Never before had I witnessed my town so divided, with the environmentalists vilifying the destruction of natural habitat, and the capitalists lauding the project in favor of profit.

Convinced that our town had to look to the future, I gave the builders the green light. It was the first major decision I hadn’t consulted the Lord about. That’s how confident I was in the project.

But I think that’s when everything started going downhill.

Shocked by what they considered a betrayal of the town on my part, the environmentalists held protests across the town square, calling for me to cancel the project. And never had I ever seen a group of people so united in their disgust against me. Fearful for my career, I started visiting the well more and more often, asking the Lord of Luck about his opinion on different public relations strategies and press conferences, in hopes that he might guide me out of the mess.

But the Lord had stopped answering me as often. There would be times when the splash was so distant, that my pricked ears would barely be able to catch it. Even worse, I had started to confuse ordinary sounds of nature around me with the coin splashes, leading to many a faulty decision being made.

Speeches and town hall conventions that I had been sure the Lord approved of ended up dropping my approval ratings even further. Frantic, I found myself consumed by the Well. I would drop dozens of pennies into the pit every day, consulting the Lord about every decision, big and small.

Should I wear the blue tie for my next meeting? Should I go on a diet? Should I ask out that waitress on a date?

But no matter how simple the question, no matter how far I strained my neck into the Well to try and pick up that distant splash, the Lord had settled on a roughly 20% response rate. Of course, the few times I was absolutely sure I heard a splash, the decision would be sublime. And those rare moments of absolution were all that kept me going through the maelstrom of bad press and media coverage on the building project. They affirmed my faith that the Lord of Luck was still with me, still looking after me. 

And for several months after that, the Lord and I maintained an uneasy relationship. The building project was proceeding at full scale, and the hubbub had started to fade. People were moving on, with more pressing concerns to worry about. But it didn’t seem like the Lord of Luck was ready to forgive me completely. For every 5 pennies I would drop into the well, I could still only be sure of only 1 decision. The other splashes were far too distant to act upon.

So instead of the usual handful of pennies I would frequent the Well with, I started carrying a leather satchel filled to the brim. I don’t know what someone would have thought it they were every unlucky enough to stumble across me at midnight. They would have seen a stooped man leaning over a Well with crazed look in his eyes, murmuring to himself while dropping coins into the bottomless pit.

They would have thought their mayor to be a lunatic.

Coming up on the 2-year anniversary of my election, everything went to shit again.

A couple journalists had scouted the development site and found a family of deer which had been slaughtered by the building crew’s heavy machinery. The appalling images made their way over to every regional newspaper, and my little town erupted with a vehement ferocity.

Even the hardcore capitalists softened at the sight of the slain baby deer, and started to voice their own misgivings about the project. The anti-Burke rallies, previously confined to only the town square, spilled over to neighboring municipalities. People across the county called for my resignation.

Once again, it was like finding myself in a waking nightmare. Instead of a leather satchel, I found a rucksack that I filled to the top with pennies, lugging my way over to the Well every waking moment I was away from my desk. Penny after penny would disappear into the bottomless pit, accompanied by my fearful questions to the Lord of Luck.

Should I launch a campaign against animal cruelty to bring back approval? Should I start a fundraiser on behalf of the local PETA chapter? Should I order the construction of a new national park?

Regardless of how hard I rubbed the pennies, how many I tossed into the Well, I stopped hearing the splashes altogether. I was met with a cold silence.

The Lord had stopped answering me.

Without His guidance, my behavior started becoming erratic. I would miss meetings, fumble speeches and backtrack on comments I made to the press. I was unable to make simple choices anymore, agonizing over every little decision.

But no matter how hard I pondered each challenge, no matter how much logic I used when thinking through my problems, I always managed to make exactly the wrong choice. People started to grow more and more fed up with me, a steadily growing undercurrent of resentment and bitterness with my administration. And on the anniversary of my 3^rd year in office, I was removed from office in an emergency landslide vote. Jobless, hated by everyone and kicked out of my home, I only had one place to go. 

So if you ever take a stroll in our forest, and are unlucky enough to stumble across me at midnight, you will see a stooped man leaning over a Well with crazed look in his eyes, murmuring to himself while dropping coins into the bottomless pit.