Monthly Archives: January 2019

I Don’t Believe I’ve Had The Treasure

A five-minute read for Miranda Kate’s Midweek Flash. Thanks to @moorseyl and @beckyfyfe for giving me their names.


Stone Stairs by Kurt Gordon

Linda slid beneath the scything blade, losing a lock of hair as it barely missed her head. Who the hell built these traps? First it had been the tiled floor, some of which sent poisoned darts flying through the air. Then the stupid rolling boulder which, sorry Mr. Trap-designer, was pathetic. She had simply stepped to the side and watched it roll by. Now this massive swinging axe. Why go to the trouble of building all these overcomplicated mechanisms, rather than just a sturdy door and a strong lock? Becky would have said it was because they were designed by men, and men do love their toys. Becky would have been right, too.

Ahead, moss-covered steps curved up to a high opening in the wall. Light shone from beyond. This far underground, though, she knew it could not be the sky. The light was a sign. What she desired lay beyond that small opening.

She climbed, carefully, the slippery steps, and eased herself through the hole. She was in another cavern, maybe half again as long as it was wide. It was flooded with light, an almost blinding white glow that emanated from a vast table at the far end. Or rather, from what sat on the table: an enormous pile of jewels; sapphires, red beryl, diamond, rubies, black opals, emeralds. Scattered amongst the gems was a multitude of gold and silver objects – sovereigns, torques, bracelets, diadems. A dazzling light emanated from within the treasure heap, casting a kaleidoscope of colour on the stalactites that crowded the roof of the cave. Unimaginable wealth covered the enormous table but for one corner, at which sat a giant of a man reading a scroll.

Linda stepped forward, to a loud crunch from beneath her boot. She looked down. The floor was ankle-deep with bones. Human bones; ribcages, skulls, legs and arms. Every step she took towards the treasure table caused a crack that echoed across the cave.

The giant at the table looked up and put down his scroll. He unfurled himself. An aurora of silver hair surrounded his head. A long beard, intricately plaited with small gems, fell over heliotrope armour that shone in the gem-glow. He covered the yards between them in one stride, the muscles in his treetrunk legs flexing powerfully.

“You did well to avoid my traps,” he boomed in a voice like a mountain awakening, “but, wanderer, know this. I have guarded this sacred place for a thousand years. I am undefeated in battle; you walk upon the bones of your predecessors. I will kill you here, unless you can show me that you have that most precious quality, wisdom. To avoid death, you must now answer me riddles three.”

“Fancy speech,” said Linda, “but I’m a Dubliner. We don’t do fancy. Go feck yourself.”

She punched the colossus hard between the legs and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his undercarriage. “Fucksake!” he whimpered.

“We don’t do riddles either,” Linda said, and stepped over him as he whined softly, clutching his nethers.

She picked up the battered scroll, turned her back on the gold, and left the glowing jewels where they lay. She carefully placed the rolled parchment in her backpack.

“Okay, so. Bye. Bye-bye,” she said, and left the cave. This was what she had come for. This was her treasure. One down, four to go.

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