Enter your story of 300 words or less. |
300 GPs were sent to Arakun the Twisted Raccoon with this post.
Black Hawk swept his hand through the night air. “It’s around here someplace, but we don’t know where.” Terry drew his pistol. “If you don’t show me the treasure, you’ll be sorry.” “I have to find it first!” “Any treachery, you die.” Teri held his pistol to the Indian’s chest. “Swear.” “I swear.” Terry lowered his weapon. Peeking over his shoulder at the burly ex-Confederate soldier lurking darkly behind, Black Hawk began walking. “I remember a secret place higher up.” “Where your people once lived, before we forced you out.” Teri smiled sardonically. “You kept attacking us, didn’t you?” “This was our land.” Terry laughed. “Was! Now it’s ours.” Now they were ascending the higher slopes. The sky was greying, and dawn’s light winds picked up. As Terry struggled up the treacherous terrain behind the more limber Indian, he stumbled on roots and stones. He panted. “Wait, this is no post-road.” Realizing he’d revealed weakness, he added, “If you plan to break my neck, you’ll be sorry.” “It’s not far.” Black Hawk pointed. In the last climb Black Hawk had to help Terry up. Finally, they squeezed through a hole that to Terry felt like it wanted to choke his breath out. After more tight fits, he detected clutter that was neither stone nor earth. “That’s all!” Terry held up his lantern. “It’s mostly tribal things we hid from white men.” Angrily Terry kicked at a pot. The pot broke, spilling clay pipes and figurines. “Treasure!” “Your treasure our treasure aren’t always same.” Black Hawk pointed. “There might be coins in those pots.” “If you’re hiding anything…” Predatorily Terry stooped. Just then Black Hawk kicked him behind his knee, simultaneously shoving a pottery fragment to his throat and grasping Terry’s gun. “You tried to kill me, now it’s my turn.” [300 words] This story has prompts from the last two days. |