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Jump for Joy
The cold morning breeze sweeps my face, whipping up the sand sprinkling my clothes. I gloomily kick random sand dunes, watching the sand fly away into the distance. My morning stroll has become more and more disheartening. Although to the outside world I portray a sense of joviality, wealth, and style, my shoulders are burdened with the ever increasing gloom of disheartening news.
My hands at my sides, I look into the sky, a faint glowing of impending sun. My gaze sweeps the pollution-ridden sky, the plastic bags choking the beach spotted with the litter, becoming more common than shells. A ring of seaweed, surrounding a bleached area of sand.
I hasten my stride and crouch down to the dark red plants encircling the ghostly patch. What is this? I tentatively reach out to touch a plant when I feel a slight trickle of sand under my foot. Confused, I take a step back before the whole thing collapses under me.
Limbs flailing, sand raining down on me, I plummet into the abyss. My arms desperately thrash, searching for a random parachute floating around or some other means of stopping me from plummeting to my death. Instead, all I manage to scoop up is a few fistfuls of cold, fleeting sand with the whispering wind quickly taking its place.
Suddenly, I slam into a pile of god-knows-what, kicking up dust and a storm of sand, jolting my leg all the way up my spine. The musky odor of ancient fabrics nearly causes me to gag. Whatever was in this forsaken cave hadn’t seen any use in decades, if not centuries. I lay there, eyes closed, and judging from the pain, I’ve probably broken my left leg and at least sprained my right ankle. Great. I’m crippled and stuck in a pit.
I sigh, and open my eyes. What do I see? Not much. Only the faintest rays of sunlight can penetrate through the layers of darkness in this sand trap. However, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, more of my prison comes into view.
I’m in some kind of bedroom since I’m lying on an archaic, crushed bed. There’s a tall wooden cabinet hiding in the shadows of a corner with a candle on top of it. That’s nice. Too bad I’ll never reach it.
Now, what else is here? Remnants of some rope, long since withered away, are a few feet away, coiled up haphazardly. Some bones are scattered on the floor. What a cheery touch to this delightful place. A sharp pain—my leg begs for my attention. Fine. I shift my gaze onto the limb, twisted at the middle of my shin. It sucks since the numbness from the initial shock is wearing off, allowing me to be bombarded with full force, but at least there’s no bone sticking out, which might make me lose last night’s dinner. I’m not going to run any marathons or walk a foot with that injury, but things could be worse.
A pile of sand, lagging behind the main downfall, plops on my head, drenching me in the gritty particles. I shake my head, dislodging enough material to allow me to see the somber treasure chest in the corner.
Oh ho ho. What do we have here?
It seems to be fashioned from some sort of dark wood, meticulously smoothed and polished so that even with the limited light, it glows softly. Its ornate brass clasp beckons to me, teasing me since it seemingly knows that I can’t reach it. Its dark secrets whisper. Come and get me. I might have gold and jewels and all that normal pirate stuff.
So it seems like I’m trapped in a pirate lair, where senile idiots jump down here to store their treasure. And apparently someone missed the bed, explaining the bones. That’s just great, since I can’t scale the walls of this hole. It might be about 50 feet, and I guess that rope over there was used to climb up. Of course, it’ll never bring me out of here.
So what do I do? Wait. Wait some more. What time is it? I pull out my black phone, and shudder when I see its crushed screen. Well, that’s nice. I probably wouldn’t get service anyways. Now, maybe I should see what’s inside the chest. Maybe it something more useful than gold., like water or food, since I’m starving. I half-drag myself, slowly, awkwardly, painfully, to the chest. The 20 feet seem like twenty miles. Finally! I reach out to the clasp.
I grab it, jerking it outwards. It doesn’t budge. Darn! It must be locked. Well that’s just nice. Still, it has to have something worthy of being locked even when it’s inside a huge pit. I lie on my back, praying for something to come help me. Another shower of sand falls on my face. And another. What’s going on? Is the whole thing caving in on me?
Then I hear the kids laughter. Are you serious? Those little monkeys are kicking sand into my pit? But wait a second.
“Help!” I yelp. “I’m down here! Help!”
The laughter stops, and the screaming begins.
“Ah! Daddy! There’s a monster in the pit!” The voice fades.
“Yes! I’m down here!”
Silence. Way to be caring and considerate. Then, a gruff voice.
“What did you say?”
A high-pitched shriek. “There’s some monster in the pit!”
Success. “Yes! Help me! I fell down here!”
The man peers down into the hole when he teeters. Wobbles. Arms waving wildly, he plummets. Yippee. I’ve got company.