I sometimes suffer from verbosity.

There was a girl, near a wishing well, and she dug really deep into her pockets to find the most shiny coin in her possession. It was silver and twinkled in the moonlight. A gem glimmering in the pile of dull coins in her hand. She picked it out and inspected it closely, holding it up to the sky to examine both sides with great attention. And she wished. And she wished, and it winked at her. And she left it on the edge of the well, for someone else, before jumping down.