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Treasure: Wednesday Prompt

I am taking part in the prompt, Treasure: Wednesday Prompt, provided by Corinne Rodrigues for I admit that it’s a very lame short story churned out since I am physically drained on a Saturday and my creative mind has taken a beating. It’s not the best of work in terms of styling and language, so forgive me for that. Still, I couldn’t resist the temptation.

Pointer for the Prompt:

Without further ado, here’s the prompt for today:

Imagine you were digging to the ground in the backyard of your new home to create a vegetable patch and  found a treasure chest.

Use the linky below to add the link to your post (exact URL, please).

The prompt is open until next Thursday night, i.e. 12  December 2013.

Treasure : Write Tribe Wednesday Prompt 4 December 2013





I’m sweating profusely in the scorching sun and gasping for droplets of ice water to cool the body temperature. It’s a Saturday and I’ve been sitting in the garden for hours, digging the mud to root the beautiful plant my uncle brought from Goa. I braved the heat and humidity this December as the mud splashed on my face as I sported the look of a distraught laborer, standing barefoot digging deep in the earth. I was feeling so dirty and at odd with myself as the white shirt and green short was tainted with mud-patterned design.

Somebody, please kill me, I told myself. I so wanted to abandon the whole process of rooting the plan as I flung the spade in the air. It’s so frustrating digging deep in the earth and, for once, I felt whether I was digging my own grave on a Saturday afternoon. I fore sake lunch and dunno, why I suddenly became so obsessed with sinking my body into dirty and, certainly, there must be a reason to wear the garb of a laborer.

I spent a fortune purchasing this house and I wanted to create this patch in the garden to grow vegetables and fruits. Perhaps, it’s the only sensible thing to do considered that I am running short of money since our corporate company has closed the department in which I work. The situation couldn’t have been more funny: I contracted the loan and bought the house. The next day, I find myself jobless. How am I going to pay the loan? I prefer not to think about the game plan in store for me. I prefer cursing my fate and, perhaps, eke a living as a gardener. I’ve been longing for an impossible miracle, what if I find a tree of gold?

Time to brush aside the unrealistic thoughts that keep popping in the mind of a man gone bonkers in the times of being broke. I picked the space and start digging violently. I am getting carried away by the passion of my exotic plant that shall find its root in my brand new garden. As I hit the spade in the mud, I stumbled on a heavy stone and I found myself blurting out expletives, what the fuck?! I left the space on the ground and clumsily walked towards the house. I entered the kitchen, opened the fridge to take a bottle of cold water that I splashed on my face. I sat on a chair and fell asleep. When I woke up, I realized that it rained heavily and it came to my mind that I gotta pick up the spade in the garden.

I walked into the garden to pick up the spade when I spotted a wooden box inside the earth that I spent hours digging, much to my chagrin. I lifted the spade and after struggling for another hour, I finally lifted the pandora box. I grew curious and, after all, how a wooden rectangular box would be buried underground. I gently opened the box and I almost collapsed. I couldn’t believe my eyes as biscuit of gold were neatly placed in the wooden box. There were loads of them and I became rich over night. I started singing loudly, thumping my chest as I couldn’t believe that lady luck has finally smiled on me. Oh! Gosh! What a miracle it’s been! I don’t need to work for the rest of my life and my home loan will be settled. Miracle do happen. I boozed throughout the night.

PS: It is 100 per cent fiction story churned out for write tribe challenge and how we all wish for such miracle to happen in our lives.




Work-in-progress, seeker and bundle of contradictions. Stubborn and Refusal to grow up and constantly in search of myself, I blurt it out on my space. Drop in and share some love. Indian by choice.

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