Buried Treasure
An endless sea of rolling hills covered in tall thick grass tumbled and bent as the wind sent torrents of waves roaring up along the slopes buffeting the few and scattered trees perched along these hills. He sat high upon a thin limb, crouched as he squinted out into the distance, searching the horizon for something. He pulls a scrap of parchment from his parka and begins to unroll it, straightening out the curled edges. He slowly traces the dotted line that snakes along the page. His finger reaches the X and he taps it to steady his mind. He knows his destination. Now it is up to him to set sail towards his goal. As he observes his surroundings he notices one thing. The wind does not favor him this day. The boy does not mind. A smug determined grin creases his face as he rolls up the map and tucks it safely into his pocket. He brushes his hair away from his face as the wind slaps it back in its place. He stands with his hand against the mast of his ship, looking out towards the billowing green sea, as it foams and roars angrily. For he knows why it fights him. The sea does not want him to find the treasure. Yet the grin remains on his face for he knows nothing can stop him. He yells the orders to set the sails full. Onward now towards his goal. The sun sits high upon the sky, no clouds afloat. His eyes settle upon the deck where his first mate would steer. Empty. As it had been for the last couple of days. Strange thought the boy, that his first mate would be absent on such an expedition. He took the wheel himself and promised he would share the treasure with his first mate regardless of his absence. Within no more than a hour of steering and scrambling to reattach loose sails, land was in sight. He scrambled up to the crows nest by himself to verify the sighting. Just off in the distance he could make out an island, completely vacant of trees, but covered in rows of neatly arranged rocks. He clambered down the trunk toward the row boat casting down from the ship into the rolling green whispering waves. He made haste for the island and came upon it within minutes, he rested his hands on his knees drawing in breath as quickly as he could. He stood up and gathered his wits moving deeper into the island. A feeling of familiarity began to grind in the back of his mind. Though he did not bury this treasure, he was certain he knew its location without the map. He hurried forward along the path that ran through the middle of the island. He was certain now and broke into a sprint, spade in hand. He darted left at the fork, one rock, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. He stopped and turned. There was the marking of his first mate, signifying the location of the treasure. He looked at the soft brown mound. His heart began to race, the treasure he been buried just recently and would prove easy to dig up. He drove his shovel into the earth, violently shoving away the dirt he just removed. A heavy dusty cloud began to choke the air. The boy did not relent, deeper and deeper he dug, each stroke with more vigor. He was getting close, he could feel it, he could sense it. He was now so deep he could not even see out of the hole. He had been digging for hours, limiting himself to a small of pauses. He was sweating, harrowed by exhaustion and anticipation. He stood again and began to dig, and in the third stroke, echoed the hollow crack of wood. His heart stopped at the sound. He was almost there. He had found the buried treasure. He would be rich, he would be able to have whatever he wanted, he would be able to do whatever he wanted, he would be happy. He uncovered the entire box, which was four feet long and about a foot and a half deep. He chuckled and shook his head as he observed the box. They used nails instead of a lock to keep it shut. They knew not how to bury treasure he thought. He drove the tip of his spade between the box and the lid slowly wrenching it further and further apart. So close now, he was so close to his goal. One nail popped out, then another, and another. Until finally it all came loose. He stood quietly in shock afraid to fully remove the lid. He was certain now, the treasure was inside. His fingers slid through the crack grasping the wood tightly. He rose moving the lid his mouth agape. Suddenly he remembered, he remembered everything, the memories flood back, pouring, and roaring, and tearing, and drowning him. Then he knows what the rock there read: Here lies "First mate"
Little brother, and son.
Loved and missed.
He remembers now. The sea took him. The sea did. That must be how..
(I plan to do a small collection of similar little stories such as this, the boy at work. Work of course being his imagination. Though I do not plan all of them to be as downtrodden as this)
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