The archaeologist swept a finger against the lines of the map. The ink had faded into the parchment, now nothing but the ghost of a message, crumbling at his touch. The airless vacuum was gone; the seal of the ancient room now crushed at his feet. The Californian air was racing to meet him. Time was running out.
It was an island. The Caribbean, yes. His hands shook as his feverish gaze scanned for the mark. All those years they’d laughed at him. All those birthdays missed, far from home.
The wind blew and the parchment melted.
All those years,…..
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Promo image courtesy of James McGill via Unsplash.
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