Mum is the Word

“Had it been one day or two?” Sveen thought. He didn’t know, but had the sand ants not attacked him, he might have perished on that very beach from a heat stroke. Brushing himself off, he glanced at his surroundings through a purple haze as his eyes adjusted to the noon sunlight. Although he was slow to get up, his mood improved when he saw where he was: “The scallywags marooned me on my island!”

For months the crew had pressed him about its whereabouts but he had stayed mum. He had to kill a few men to keep this location secret and he didn’t plan on giving away his retirement without a fight. Regardless of his present situation, he did what pirates always do; go for the gold.

Making his way up the trail, he passed by the familiar markings until he came to the top of the hill with a lone palm tree hanging over the ledge. He looked around, found a branch and started digging into the soft dirt until after several yard deep his makeshift tool made a thud against a foreign object. “There you are my love!” he cried out. After a few minutes of rest, the old pirate grinned with what teeth he had left and with his last surge of energy, heaved the heavy chest out onto the rim of the hole. But when he finally managed his way out of the hole, he was faced with the last sight he wanted to see. Surrounding him was the crew that had left him on this island. In the center of the group stood the man that led the mutiny the day before and with a cackle cried out: “Why thank ye Cap’n! You got the treasure for us and dug yer own grave!”