The Secret That Lies Beneath

He wet his lips, breathing raggedly as he took tentative step after tentative step; his feet had carried him into the nearby cemetery in hopes of finding a place to rest his cut up, swollen feet. He crossed diagonally through tombstones until he found a quiet, secluded spot behind a cluster of graves. He had by this time stopped his movement and was partially crouched against the back of a strangers’ stone, his right hand idly combing through the fresh grass that tickled between his toes; occasionally digging his fingers into the dirt, all the while fading in and out of consciousness. Soon, he slipped into a deep, motionless slumber.

When morning came, the sun glistened through colorful fall leaves on the trees above him. Forgetting his whereabouts, he stretched his arms and found his hands seeping into the loosened soil from earlier that night. His fingers grazed something and he shot up, a shiver shooting up his spine. With wide eyes' he hesitantly scanned the ground – afraid of what he might find – only to find a small, black, leather-bound notebook peeking out at him.

“What’s this?” He muttered, voice cracking with the torment of dehydration, while he lifted the mysterious black book out of the cool dirt; his right-hand tense, fingers firmly gripping the spine of the soiled pages. His eyes studied the tattered leather – his free hand shook as he reached up, running the pad of his index finger down the opening edge of its cover, before turning to the first page.

“It’s…empty.” He whispered, bottom lip quivering as he squinted at the stained, damaged paper. “It can’t be”, he licked at the dry, cracked skin of his dirt-covered fingers so he could turn to the next page. His brows furrowed with disappointment when he found – again – nothing. Frantically he turned page after page, feeling the frustration boil like a pit of acid inside his stomach. With a sharp inhale through gritted teeth, he gripped the book shut and tossed it into the grass in front of him – feeling defeated. He exhaled, running his fingers through his greying hair, only to glance up and find that the book had fallen open to a page with a messy, hand-drawn treasure map’.

I knew it, he thought to himself with a sly grin on his face. Eagerly, he reached out and grabbed the book, studying every detail of the map. It was simple, not much detail; a few lines here and there, a couple of scribbles to represent graves. There was no “x” to mark any treasure; it was just an ordinary doodle. With a sigh, he wiped his hand across the pages to clear it of a chunk of soil that had fallen from his fingers, only to discover the indented words ‘dig here’ – as if written with a blunt stick – under the only tree featured in the map. He stared at the words carefully, before he looked up to study his surroundings, noticing a sad, skinny tree a few feet to his left.

He stood, holding the book tightly in hand as he made his way towards the tree. His eyes were automatically drawn to a small arrow pointing downward that was carved into the base of the tree. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and began to dig with his bare fingers. He dug for what felt like forever before scraping his fingers against something that felt similar to rusted metal. His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning, he dug eagerly to pull out the rusty old can. Finally, he flung backward as the tin released itself from the Earth. He sat up; fingers quick at work to reveal whatever was lurking inside. Within minutes of fiddling, the top opened with a pop.

He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and peered inside. His eyes widened, before welling up with tears. He sobbed, pulling out the roll of old one-hundred-dollar bills hidden within. He cried as he counted out twenty thousand dollars in cold hard cash. He clutched the money to his chest and whimpered to himself, “I can finally eat…”