There is a great pool in the afterworld, and whenever a heart is broken a single drop, perfect as cut crystal, falls and spreads concentric circles on the skin of the water. The more melancholy inhabitants of the afterworld often walk round the shores of the lake, admiring the willows and the great dark lily pads that float serenely on its silvery surface. People usually visit the lake alone - it is not the sort of place that welcomes the sound of conversation. Sometimes couples, having resolved a hard-fought argument, will walk down to the lake, hand in hand, and stare down into the water and in the endings of others see their worried selves reflected. Some smile as if to dismiss any personal connection, others see a warning, others a future they cannot yet bring themselves to hope for.
Some inhabitants of the afterworld dislike the pool. They mutter darkly about the strains that cases of depression put on the health service, remark on the occasional unfortunates who dare to swim in the lake and come out cold and shivering and weeping, covered in tiny, bloodless cuts. A man who sits on the council has argued vociferously that the quiet, starlit park in which the lake lies is a magnet for the criminal element. He recommends selling off the land to developers so they can provide affordable housing for young professionals. The lake, he says, with something fanatical and fearful in his tone, could easily be concreted over. He has a contractor in mind.
A scientist from the university once tried to measure the drops that fall into the lake. He set up two great, crackling machines by the lakeside, one to detect the splashes the drops make when they fall, one to detect the little disturbances in the air that occur when the drops form. When he tried to extract data from them, though, the machines refused to provide readouts. The first machine toppled mutely into the silvery water and sunk without trace. The second machine was silent and resentful at first, but eventually moved on with its life, although it always maintained its steadfast refusal to open up about the experience they'd shared.