The story of Jack and Jill seems so innocent... But is it all it seems to be?
We all know the popular nursery rhyme:
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after.
But do we really just accept that for what it is? Perhaps there are ulterior motives and a reason why Jack fell down (the rhyme is strangely silent on that point. Makes you think). This is my attempt at being a conspiracy theorist, written from the POV of Jill.
My mother is sending me out again with my buffoon of a brother to get water for dinner tonight. I don’t know why Mother feels that Jack really needs a companion for such a menial task, but perhaps she realizes the truth of how dim-witted he is. He would more likely reach the well and promptly forget what he was supposed to be doing there.
With a long-suffering sigh, I pick myself up from where I was playing/plotting with my dolls (who, by the way, have a much higher IQ than Jack), and obey Mother. Admittedly, this will be the perfect time for me to carry out my plan in secrecy. Heading out the door with the pail in hand, and ignoramus brother at my side, we walk the mile to the well. Trudging up that tiresome hill, I go over in my head what it is I’m going to do. We reach the well at the peak of the hill. I hook the pail to the pulley system and Jack lowers it. It comes back up brimming with water, and it was easy to ‘accidentally’ deliberately spill a little on the ground in my ‘attempt’ to take the full and heavy pail off the hook, making the grass more slippery than it would have normally been.
“Oh, brother Jack dearest, I’m afraid the pail is too heavy for me to lift by myself. Please lend your strong arm to your poor dear sister, who has not the strength to carry it,” I say to the fool. He amiably comes to where I am standing, unaware of the sloshed water, and lifts it almost effortlessly off the hook. As he turns to head back down the hill, I decide to aid him in his travel. I give him a good shove, and the slippery grass provides no traction for comical attempts to restore his balance. His feet slip out from underneath him, the bucket of water goes flying, and Jack goes down the hill much faster than he would have if he had simply walked. I still stand at the top of the hill, sneering and shaking my head at pitifully easy that was, then throw myself down after him to make myself look innocent. The wet grass provides a lovely slide for me, and I arrive at the foot of the hill with no injury. Alas, the same cannot be said for poor, imbecile Jack. Perhaps that blow to the head will have knocked some sense into him, if it didn’t make what few senses he had take leave of him. I feel a small pang of remorse, but shrug it off. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it. Any fool (except him, apparently) could have seen it coming.
Now to plot the fall-down of everyone else who’s an idiot.