Posted by: normanlgreen | February 7, 2013

Dream, February 7, 2013 Dipping from the Well

Dream, home, 5:10 am

I find myself at the bottom of a pit. I hear my own voice narrating, reminiscing of my time serving in the military during a jungle war.

I stand knee deep in filthy water. My voice tells me that, for us foot soldiers, the closest thing to fresh water had to be stolen from the officers’ well. Each of the grunts had to take his turn stealing water. This is my memory of one occasion.

The well is not a narrow shaft with smooth stone sides, but a pit, fifteen feet deep, with crumbling red dirt sides. Vegetation hangs over the oval edge above me. The common soldiers have so much contempt for the officers, that they have intentionally polluted the well with their trash. I slog many paces through a sickening slurry of egg shells and fruit rinds. The floor beneath my bare feet is slick with sludge. I dip into the mix with glass jars, holding them before my face to see how much debris has been captured. By filling near the surface of the pool, I am able to keep out most of the large trash, but the brown water is a suspension of nasty particulate matter – made worse with more of my movement which stirs-up that which had settled to the slippery bottom. I want to steal a colander from the cook tent, to filter the foul water with cloth, but I know that nothing is our world is clean enough to give me the results I desire. I curse the short-thinking soldiers who take their petty revenge by polluting their only water source. I prepare to climb out of the pit and hear my future voice narrating:

“Most days you came out clean as a whistle, but sometimes, the parasites found you more interesting.”

As I reach for a vine, by which I will pull myself up to the surface, I see my tanned right fore arm. Slick dark lines, the rich green of oily black olives, inch along my skin. Tiny leaches, no more than a centimeter and half, have found me “more interesting”. I wonder how many have found a home inside of my wet clothes.



  1. Interesting…is this a first for the narration effect?

    • not the first time, though it happens less frequently than when I was young.

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