The Forgotten Well

As the last light of day slipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky in hues of lavender and burnt orange, I found myself walking the empty halls of my old school. The place was a maze of memories, each corner echoing with laughter from days gone by or the rustle of pages turned in a world that seemed distant now. I stepped into the familiar corridor, where the walls knew every secret whispered between friends, every dream confided under the flickering glow of the old ceiling lights. Here, in these hallowed halls, the air felt heavier, as if it carried the weight of countless untold stories. In the silence, I could almost hear the echoing footfalls of a companion long forgotten, mirroring my own. I turned, expecting to see... what? A specter of my former self? The shape of a friend whose face was now only a blur? But only shadows greeted me, dancing in the dimness like silent specters. The Forgotten Well — a name carved into the surface of my memories like a gravestone on a lonely hill. Its presence pulled me like a tide, an unseen force beckoning me onward. As I approached, the chilling whispers of long-vanished voices trickled through the air, entwined with the scent of damp earth and moss. Was it memory, or a figment of a worn mind, conjuring phantoms from the deep? I crouched beside the well’s edge, peering into the depths. I wondered briefly whether the tales were true, whether something might look back at me from those shadowy depths. The cool stone felt rough beneath my fingertips, an anchor in the present against the drift of wistful thoughts. A place forgotten, a story untold. I lingered there longer than I meant, listening to the echo of that enigmatic rhythm, letting it weave its quiet spell. Perhaps, beneath the weight of history, under the patina of time, buried in layers of nostalgia and dreams, there lay another path to follow. A door unopened, leading to a garden where the past and future danced side by side. Return to the Echoes | Dreams and Shadows