I crawled into the back seat of an ancient car and, with shaky fingers, flipped through the wallet. I had expected to find something worth nearly dying for but found a measly fifty bucks. I felt sure that I had scored something big this time; why else would they have chased me all this way, waving the heat.
As I grabbed the money I noticed a small zippered pocket. I opened it and there it was, a small key, the type that opens a deposit box. I had found myself something big after all, big trouble.
It wasn’t ten minutes later when I heard voices. How did they manage to find me? Cautiously, I slid further down on the seat, any moment expecting a gun to be shoved in my faced. I couldn’t hear footsteps, just voices; they were debating whether I had the guts to set foot on this soil.
One of them sounded nervous and kept droning on about some curse, insisting they leave. The other readily agreed, saying I was as good as dead anyway.
It was silent. Was it a trap or had they really left? I had a choice to make, run for it and risk getting blown away, or wait and pray to God that the curse was merely a legend. Either way, I felt I was doomed.
I didn’t realize how hard it was to write a story in less than 300 words. If the photo inspires a short story in you, please post it and link back to this post as I would love to read it.
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