Jack and Jill went up the hill…

The age-old nursery rhyme resonated in his head like a broken cassette, pounding against the walls of his skull, repeating itself over and over until it became nothing but a meaningless group of words. Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. A pail of water Jack and Jill went up to fetch. To fetch Jack, Jill went up the hill, a pail of water. Was he walking upwards? Was he even walking? Perhaps he had begun crawling--become a bug--a tiny dot in the middle of the barren wasteland. One thing he knew for certain--there was no Jill.

He checked his water flask. It seemed that, the last time he checked, the bottle had been more than half full. Tilting it into the glaring sun, he shook it slightly to make certain that this wasn’t simply another hallucination. But no, the fact remained. A thin layer of water barely covered the bottom of the flask; after his next drink, it would be gone. A bead of sweat dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it away with his hand, an action that had quickly become far too familiar for comfort. He pressed onwards. To stop would seal his doom.

To fetch a pail of water…

Time was running short, he knew that all too well. It was a race against time, against nature, against his body itself. He had discarded the water flask long ago; at this point, anything that might weigh him down had to be cast off. Breathing became a task, an action he had to continually remind himself to perform--“breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out”. A sound like the beating of a drum pounded incessantly, driving him into submission, pulling lethargic arms from his side to cover his ears, to shut out the noise.

His hat had disappeared somewhere along the way.

Whenever the beating subsided, a new mantra replaced it—water. Water. Water. Water. Water. If he reached water, he would find his happily ever after. Water. Happily ever after. Water. Happily ever after. Jack and Jill had water. That’s why they lived happily ever after. But they didn’t. Jack broke his crown. But they had water. Water. Water. Water.

And then it appeared, shimmering in the distance. Palm trees waved invitingly, their fronds beckoning him to approach. Clear blue water sparkled in the sunlight, and emerald bushes promised respite from the unrelenting sun. He picked up his pace, staggered a bit faster. He began running, sprinting. Dragging in labored breaths, he managed to focus his eyes on the water, on the hope that lay just a few meters before him. With a final rattling breath, he arrived.

And there was no oasis.

Jack fell down and broke his crown…

They found him the next morning, lying dead in the middle of the desert, miles from civilization. His lips were cracked and parched, his skin peeling, his arms outstretched as though he had been reaching for something at the moment of his death.

And Jill came tumbling after…

They searched his body for any clues that might shed some light on his identity, but found none. The case was eventually filed away into the back of a musty drawer and quickly forgotten. They say he died of heat stroke and extreme dehydration. That he had possibly gone completely insane by the time he collapsed. Perhaps, somewhere, Jill sat alone and wept, but perhaps there was no Jill in the first place.