When the fog rolled in, she shrieked. The road in front was narrow and surreptitious. The jungle was thick on both sides. The air was heavy and gray. She waited in the car for an hour, listened to banal tunes that should have inspired but just rolled on. When the first rock smashed onto the chassis, she cursed herself and the innocent black bird that had sought refuge on the thin bough to the right. Then she ran up to the mountainside, crawled into a narrow crevice.
It was in that darkness that the lost box of golden dust sparkled.
© Copyright 2018 Fariel Shafee. All rights reserved.
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Fariel Shafee has degrees in science, but enjoys writing and art. She has published prose and poetry in decomP, Ygdrasil, The Foundling Review, etc.