The breeze smells faintly of salt, but not the unpleasant low tide smell. The comforting smell that paints a picture in your head of warm sand under your feet, the cold sea spray in your face, and collections of shells gifted from the sea collecting in a bucket to take home as treasures. I can feel the salt on the driftwood floor . The breeze comes through the door that faces inland beyond the porch outside and out the window that faces the sea. The ladder swings in the small breeze, the only passage that allows visitors in and out. A faint metallic sound echoes through the air as the rope rebounds against the flagpole on the outside of my little shack. High in the sunlight, a familiar jolly roger flies in the wind, a deterrent to those who would steal the treasures hidden inside. Shelves line the walls, most of the space filled with treasures of past adventures. A seashell from meeting a mermaid, a rock from the sight of an epic sword battle. Other trophies, reminders of adventures along the sea. I pull my book from it’s familiar place on the shelf to choose today’s adventure. Today’s adventure will take me again beyond the horizon to find the treasure of a local pirate, no famous, but known well around here. The legend of a treasure left behind, and a map lost in time.
The search begins with this pirate’s journey when his crew first docked in this small little shore town, starting at the duck pond inn. Standing on the rooftop balcony is a perfect view of the entire town square. If you want to find treasure you have to think like a pirate, and where would a map be that leads to such a great treasure. Shining like a piece of gold in an empty bucket, the treasure chest store. A store full of trinkets and keepsakes with a display window as captivating a sight as any buried treasure. Hidden in the corner of the window, there it is; A map! Not a treasure map, but a map of the entire town, with a message inscribed along the edges.
No x on the map to mark treasure, but a push in what feels to be the right direction. From the old fort up in the forest you can see the entire town, probably where this map was drawn. Our new destination. Standing atop the old fort I can see everything. The wind whistles around crumbling towers, cannons lay dormant, and old stacks of cannonballs have melded together from the wearing of times passing. The wind comes from down the mountain to blow over the forest below, sailing over the trees, shaking leaves and a familiar sign. A jolly roger, flying in the wind just above the treeline. A short hike down the cliffside, I find a simple treehouse turned pirate fortress. A jolly roger barely hangs on as the rope has come loose from it’s knot. I pull the string taught once more, to lift the colors proudly to the sky. WIth a moment paused, and a silent salute, I enter the pirate fortress. A lone telescope points out the window, rusted in place from being forgotten. It points me to my next mark; the lighthouse. As I make my trek to the far side of town, a storm is blowing in from the sea and dark clouds cover the sky. Angry waves crash on the shore, drowning anything up to the rocks in endless tides. The lighthouse remains empty, no keeper resides within anymore. A banging draws my attention and X marks the spot on the old barn door. I close the door behind me as the rain begins to pound on the roof and lightning streaks across the sky. Underneath the pounding thunder, the floorboards creak under my boots, but just one creaks differently than the rest. Underneath a burlap sack, a hidden string, and a long forgotten trap door is revealed. A flashlight out of my bag, I descend the ladder into a long forgotten cave. Filled with nets, ropes, barrels of all kinds and a mirror, but not treasure to be found. An opening to the sea glows as storm clouds part letting sunlight in again. A reflection in the mirror and the rays spread throughout the cave, focusing on one particular spot. A message, written on the ceiling; “Think of me”. Just maybe, the search hasn’t ended. Stepping out onto the sand, still damp from the rain and waves, the skeleton of an old rowboat, half buried, pointing towards the island just offshore. The island is unoccupied except for crumbling stone ruins, and a well that forms the teeth of a skull shaped in the rock formation behind it. One last chance, I make my way across the sea. I step from my small boat onto the shore, as if a conqueror in a new world. The well is deep and dark, the rope seeming to disappear with no end in sight. Salt from the sea that’s etched itself into the rope digs into my hands as I pull. The bucket is heavy, but with water or something more? Sunlight seems to sparkle out of the well as the bucket reaches the top. Shining more than a single piece of gold in an empty bucket, because the entire bucket is filled with gold and treasure.
“Hey honey, it’s time for dinner!”
A call from the ground at the bottom of the ladder. I gaze out the window of my treehouse beyond the end of my telescope to see the sun setting on the horizon. I close my book “Tales of Great Pirates and Their Treasures” and put it in it’s spot on the shelf. I close the door of my fortress and climb down the ladder to the ground. A pause to salute the jolly roger flying high in the setting sun. Until tomorrow comes to open my book again and go on my next adventure.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing