Buried Boots

I signed up for a creative writing course. My choice of this course had little to do with the actual topic, but more to do with available time in my schedule and the fact that it was 100% online. We have had 3 sessions, with two remaining. The other students are so much more experienced than I, and came prepared with partially written short stories. They all have very imaginative topics, from mystery to science fiction, murder mysteries, horror, etc. I had to improvise when I was put on the spot, and thought of my most interesting ancestor — my great-grandfather. I can’t seem to come up with random stories that have nothing to do with people I know…

One big truth that has come out of this process is that writing is more than just coming up with a great idea, and having an amazing imagination, it’s about knowledge and effort. Lots of effort.

The assignment this week is to write a Dribble (exactly 50 words), Drabble (exactly 100 words) or a Postcard (250 words). Here is my Drabble “Buried Boots”:

What amount of gold is worth isolation, illness and death?

Campfire smoke, memories of home, remorse over his massive mistakes choking him with every breath.

Angus learned of more deaths among the prospectors. Typhoid. Accidents. Death at the hands of greedy stampeders. 

Tomorrow he will head home, without his fortune. All that remained was a tiny collection of nuggets hidden inside his boots—just enough to take home as souvenirs.

The heavy weight of guilt from a lifetime of blunders slid away, just as the escarpment thundered toward the campsite.

Perhaps his boots will make it home to his family.