Gold Rush

Miles O’Brien hugged the pot of gold and grinned.  His brother, Conan, eyed him skeptically and shook his head.

“You know, this gold won’t last too long--it’s half-life is pretty short, only a few days!”

“I know,” replied Miles, “I’ve been thinking how I can spend it, but I’m taking a few moments to enjoy my newfound gold possession!”

“You were fortunate to meet that Leprechaun,” Conan said.

“I know,” said Miles. “He took me to the end of the rainbow--he said I was chosen.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Conan clucked, “You told me already.  So, do you have any ideas?”

Miles straightened up and looked Conan square in the eye.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do.”

Miles grabbed the pot with both hands and dumped the gold and the beige rug.  Gold poured out like a metal river, filling the room with a delightful clinking sound.

“Who could resist such a bounty!”  Miles beamed.

“Your idea?”

“My idea,” Miles began, “Is to take it to a psychic; there’s one in the uptown area, I saw the sign in the window yesterday when I drove by.”

“So what’s the idea of spending it there?”  Conan tilted his head and folded his arms.

“It’s a kind of bribe--you know my disdain for psychics.”

“Yeah, I know, and I agree with you--they are full of it.”

“Would you say this pile of gold represents millions of dollars?”  Miles asked.

“Of course, it’s obviously a fortune.”

“So the psychic would be interested?  Miles measured his words evenly and slyly grinned.

“Yes, yes,” Conan chirped impatiently.  “Your idea?”

“I will offer her the entire pot of gold if she can tell me what happened to Malaysian flight 370.  After all, this mystery has gripped the world.  She’s a psychic, so it should be child’s play!”

“O you are conniving!”  Conan said. 

Miles walked to the front window and gazed at the sunny morning.  He tuned back to Conan and beamed.

“Well, why not,” Miles said, plaintively, “I get quite peeved at these con artists.  So, why not have some fun--and like you said, this gold won‘t last!”

_______________


Miles touched base with the beneficent Leprechaun to determine the exact time when the gold would vanish, and timed it well when he made his appointment with the psychic.  Drool dripped from the psychic’s lips as Miles set the pot of gold at her feet.  She hummed and awed and mewed double talk as she gazed into her crystal ball, flipped cards, and bobbed and weaved like an artful charlatan.  She spoke in half-sentences, yet said nothing. 

Miles grinned broadly when he saw the shock on her face as the gold suddenly vanished.
What a shame, he thought, that she could not follow suit.


460 Words
Writer's Cramp
March 18, 2014