Fool in a Hole (A Short Story)
Once upon a time, a fool sat upon the cold, muddy ground. The thing about this fool was, he had a tendency to scratch himself. It was a compulsion he could not get rid of. It wasn't lice or a skin infection, just a deep urge to scratch, scratch, scratch at his skin until it went red and bloody.
On that day, when the fool sat on the ground, he felt the compulsion to scratch again. But this time, he decided to start scratching at the muddy ground instead of his own skin. He scratched and scratched, and as he did, he began digging into the ground, deeper and deeper, until the fool found himself in a hole of his own creation.
But he didn't stop. He dug and scratched at the ground until he dug a hole so deep, he couldn't get out of it. By the time he realized just how deep he dug, it was already too late. The fool screamed on top of his lungs "Help! I'm stuck in a hole! Isn't there anyone who could help me?" The people just walked past, paying his pleas no mind. Some even stopped by the hole to spit at the fool from above. One person did approach the hole, without spitting at the fool. The fool looked up at the person, his eyes full of hope. "Please, help me get out of this hole. I can't do it by myself." The person who approached just smiled and shook their head. "Why should any of us help you? You dug this hole yourself." And then they walked away.
The fool died in that hole. Was it his fault?
On that day, when the fool sat on the ground, he felt the compulsion to scratch again. But this time, he decided to start scratching at the muddy ground instead of his own skin. He scratched and scratched, and as he did, he began digging into the ground, deeper and deeper, until the fool found himself in a hole of his own creation.
But he didn't stop. He dug and scratched at the ground until he dug a hole so deep, he couldn't get out of it. By the time he realized just how deep he dug, it was already too late. The fool screamed on top of his lungs "Help! I'm stuck in a hole! Isn't there anyone who could help me?" The people just walked past, paying his pleas no mind. Some even stopped by the hole to spit at the fool from above. One person did approach the hole, without spitting at the fool. The fool looked up at the person, his eyes full of hope. "Please, help me get out of this hole. I can't do it by myself." The person who approached just smiled and shook their head. "Why should any of us help you? You dug this hole yourself." And then they walked away.
The fool died in that hole. Was it his fault?