"There chew on that!" Maybel yelled.

Always wanting food.  Always hungry.  Always thirtsy.  Always crying about something.  Too hot. Too cold.  So dependent.  Maybel had enough.

She sat down by the edge of the well, listening.  She listened for the screaming.  Oh, it was constant and terrible.  She listened for the wailing.  It was the only thing that could silence the screaming.  And then there was the silence.  No, not pure silence, but close enough.  It was the sound of drowning.  It was the sound of water filling the lungs.  It was like music.

"I hate you!" Maybel hissed at the well.  She was too tired to get up.

"And I hated your dog," she spoke a little louder.

The wet grass felt good.  It was still damp from the morning's rain.  It left wet spots beneath Maybel's legs.  It left grass stains on her shorts.

She pushed the tangled locks out of her face and looked up toward the sun.

"Looks like a nice day," she spoke to the well.

"Maybe I'll find you a friend," Maybel said more to herself.

The sobbing began again.  Quiet and resigned.