#day94of100

The captain was pleased. On the beach, spread out in front of him, the spoils of his last raid. Precious stones, coins, objects of gold, glittered in the sun. His crew were gathered around him. “Okay, mateys,” the Captain said. “Let’s bury this hyar treasure.”

The men, holding shovels, seemed to hesitate. The sun burned down upon their scorched faces, eyes squinting, staring at the captain.

“Well? The treasure won’t bury itself!”

The men shuffled their feet in the sand.

“It’s like this,” one brave man said, stepping forward. “We don’t want to bury it. We’re always burying treasure and never see it again. We’ll be dead and turned to dust and the treasure will still be in the ground!”

Another man spoke up. “We’re tired,” he said. “We want to go home.”

The Captain furrowed his brow. Spat tobacco juice and took a swig of rum from the bottle in his hand. He looked angry, and then he stared at the treasure, and looked at his men.