The leaky ceiling at the restaurant was nicknamed the fountain by the staff, and when the owner overheard them he called it brilliant. He put seats around the bucket and declared it a contemplative experience.

Here’s the thing, he said. Water and air are the simplest elements in our universe. You yourself are 80% water and 10% air. That is why, as you watch the waterfall through the air, you can contemplate yourself and reality at a deeper level than you ever could before.

The entire staff thought he was crazy until people paid double to sit in the contemplation circle. Only one girl piped up and still called it a leak, but he fired her and threatened to sue her into the ground.

It became the contemplation fountain. Staff tried to sneak in contemplation sessions during quiet periods. In these sessions they learned things about themselves such as: They were in love with each other; They were not who they wanted to be; They could access inner peace with a little concentration. The owner started replacing tables with bunk beds but still served food. You (yes, you) could have gone and paid only a few hundred dollars for profound realizations about yourself, accompanied by tea and warm biscuit.

When Food Safety came to repair it, the owner begged him not to. Just sit, just here, just see. You’ll see. Food Safety sat and contemplated. He realized what made him happy. He realized it was not Food Safety. He realized that restaurants did not need to be safe to be good. He left and was never seen again.

One day the leak stopped. The owner personally came to apologize to all of the tenants, who were irritated, lost, forlorn. “It has just been a bit dry lately.” “The reserve has gone away.” “This will be fixed momentarily.” Then the owner bought water jugs at the grocery store, which he broke open upon the roof. From then on, it was one staff member’s duty to constantly buy water and cut it open with a machete on top of the restaurant.

Over time, more fountains appeared in the restaurant, like gifts from the universe. Staff reverently prepared the sacred receptacles underneath and then sent gratitude out to the universe, up through the fountain.

For years, everything was beautiful. Staff were paid in timeslots spent near fountains. Even with only a half-hour of contemplation, you could realize something like: It is in the nature of things to wither and die, or: many of your beliefs were inherited but never examined.

One day, the owner interviewed a Mathematics student from the nearby university who needed a part-time job. The interview was conducted by the original contemplation fountain. Unfortunately, something was wrong with the candidate. “I don’t feel anything”, she said. “It’s just a leak.”

Some nearby patrons were so shaken by her words, they had to do contemplation exercises. The owner said: It takes time. It takes contemplation. It takes a life.

“I think your roof is going to fall in,” she replied.

She did not pass the interview. This was exceptional because there had been hundreds of hires. She must have been the first one to not pass the interview since the first fountain arrived.

She finished her degree in Mathematics, then another and another, and became a professor of Mathematics. One dark night, a ruin of a man came to her door.

“May I help you?” she asked.

You don’t recognize me? said the ruins, and instantly she did. It was the owner of the restaurant.

I have sought you out this last week. The contemplation fountains are all gone.

“Gone where?”

You know what I mean. Then he looked awkwardly at the ground. The roof caved in.

She suppressed a smile, seeing his discomfort. “I’m sorry to hear it. But why have you –”

How did you know? He asked. What could you see that we couldn’t? Is it mathematics? What is it?

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t care about contemplation.”

He contemplated this. There was something to it. It was as though the lack of contemplation allowed her to notice things outside of herself. He begged her to take him on as a student. He slept on her floor, and she slowly taught him the ways of anti-contemplation. After years of practice, he did not think about his life. He did not think about his past. After a decade, he didn’t think about himself at all.

Yet still, whenever it rained, he could not look away.

– Conor Barnes