[Cw: injury and just cruelty]

How did this happen. Who did he anger in the universe to put Menachem in such a state. He had a family that had been cruel to him, especially that brother of his who seemed to think his own reason for being in the world was to torment him. He disliked his strict family who couldn't be pleased with a merely average child, and he disliked this country that ruined his life for a crime he didn't comment. But for now, curse this town...

And the hole he was literally in.

He had been humiliated but his life had been humbled since he got out of jail, perhaps even before. He was working on a farm just outside of town, sometimes chopping wood or whatever manual labor they needed. He was being paid complete shit.  But it was something, and he was able to pay for the small inn, since his family had cut him off. He didn't even know his baby brother had gotten married and had his son. He didn't want to see any family, he was hoping to eventually dig him out of his current state, metaphorically.

He had been trying to feel better about doing something that no one could think badly of. He had even worked late that day to do a good job and try to show he was better than others thought of him. But that was such a mistake. He'd wandered home on a dark night and gotten mixed up. Next thing he knew, the ground below him disappeared and he fell.

Now, he'd been here for days. He didn't even know where he was, but someone did.  His body was pure pain, he was starving and grateful it had rained. The lack of smelling rot made him hopeful that the fading pain in his broken leg wasn't from it dying. Maybe it was healing or he was getting used to it. He hadn't prayed in a long time, but now he did. He didn't want to die in that fucking hole, and he didn't want to lose his damned leg. Even after managing to free any fallen rocks off of himself, he couldn't see his condition and he couldn't climb out. He had even cried when it was dark and no one could see or hear him.

From when he first fell and woke up, he'd tried to call for help. When day time came, he tried again, and it was his quickly becoming hopeless screams for help that had brought the boys. Little bastards. He saw the boys' faces pop up over head on day ...two? Three? They'd laugh at him and shout or throw disgusting shit at him. Sometimes, they tossed him food though so he wouldn't die and the game would last longer. He never hated kids more than now, and that was really saying something.

He was slowly starting to think he would just die here, and hoped his ghost would appear to drag these kids to some sort of punishment when he heard a voice. It wasn't a child and he started to call out again. Though his voice was weak now and barely loud enough to be heard above the hole.

Something called to her, that day. A spiritual awakening, perhaps. A contentedness with all she’d done, all she would do, all that had passed. Of being a grandmother, even, to some rampant seductress’ ill-gotten child.

… That was unkind, but the bar’s door hadn’t been working properly for a while now. She drank herself back to kindness.

Maybe the girl would make a good mother, out of sight, out of mind.

Mmph. Were these gin bottles getting shorter or what?

Either way, finding peace had meant rifling through a bar’s unattended basement in the night, uncorking bottle by bottle muffled under her skirt and chugging her favorites down like a bored, small bear.

That night found her in the woods, listening to her conscience … which sounded like a man? A very weak man? Oh, Harry! Was he out here?

But then she saw a hole in the ground … and what called strongest to her this night was her bladder.

“Hold on, Harry!” she called back, hiking up her skirt and squatting by the general vicinity of that hole in the ground. “Just got to take care of business, first!”

His voice was so strained and worn, it hurt. But suddenly there was a voice in the night. It was an adult, a woman! Not one of those brats. He turned his head up to the entrance and stared hard. Business?! He needed help. Managing to keep his complaints quiet, he called out though it was harder to make sure he was heard clearly.

"Please... help me.. I've been here for.. days.. You will be my hero if.. you can.. get me out!"

He struggled and his body scraped against the rocky walls more than they'd already been as he reached up. She wasn't there yet, but he wasn't about to risk losing this chance.

There was a brief full moon over Menachem’s hole.

Mercifully, it passed.

Less mercifully for Anita: it didn’t. She strained and strained, but nothing came.

What was she doing? Right. Harry. Down a hole again. Was he ever lovelier than when he needed her? It was like the old days again.

“You ever thought about, you know,” Anita reminisced as she stumbled about in search for that hole, “going the-- ow, the places we used to go? And, you know, trying things other than standing up.”

There was a brief moment of something akin to fear but far more of disgust. He looked away in worry before it moved. When she spoke, he wondered how drunk this woman could possibly be.

"Ah.. we can discuss anything you like.. once you get me out of here! Please, a rope, a branch.. I don't know.. anything that'll help get me out!" he said quickly.

He was suddenly worried that perhaps she'd stumble off and forget about him completely or at best, not find the hole. "Ah.. if you walk away, mark the hole, so you can find me again!"

There was a … small, stream sound. Steady. Then, an exuberant sigh.

“I’ll remember it!” she called.

Whether she even thought she would or not? Eh. Not as important as the confirmation.

Anita wandered off, found her actual husband, felt a vague sense of disappointment, and chugged it down.

Some time mid-day, however, a bicycle rang out a jaunty ring. It came to a halt, and the sound of metal hitting wood suggested it leaned against a tree nearby.

“Someone here?” she called, voice parched.

After a couple of hours, he felt a deepnset depression set in as he had to come to terms that he was going to die down that hole and never be found. His family wouldn't even care, they'd just chalk it up to him getting into trouble again and going on the run or something. The only thing the man could do in his misery was go to sleep.

The next day, when he heard the bicycle, hope returned until he heard her voice. He wasn't certain st all and wondered where the hell she'd gone. He wasn't going to think on it too long as he called out as loud as his weak voice would allow, "down here!! Please! Get me out!"

The odor was similar to when someone had passed by last … but there was less stumbling. Far less.

“How’d you end up down there?” she called, and there was some sort of shuffling going on nearby.

A yard or two away, give or take.

Menachem leaned his forehead against a stone and frowned, closing his eyes in exhaustion. At least he thought perhaps she wasn't as drunk as the night before. "I fell in, how else does one end up in these situations?"He looked back up and strained to see anything in the small light.

“Someone could’ve put you there,” Anita answered, quite earnestly. “I wouldn’t want to undo their hard work.”

Nonetheless, a rope tumbled down the hole. It smelled musty. A bit moldy, even.