Not Worth the Price of Admission

I stood staring for what seemed an eternity but was probably only ten or fifteen seconds. There were some crooked bushes growing on either side of the opening. A small brown mouse was moving near the twisted trunk of one of the bushes. He was searching for something among the roots. And I was searching for something that just had to be in a cave. My palms began to sweat. I raised the map to double check that I was in the right spot. The mouse must have seen my motion and bolted into a hole. Which was okay for him. He was used to living in tight spaces. I wasn’t. Although the truth be known, I was already in a tight spot.

I tried to see deeper inside but it was dark. Black. And the entrance was only a few feet wide and maybe five feet high. I took a small step towards the cave. And stopped. I remembered how my older brother had tortured me when we were young. Pinning me to the ground with his knees on my biceps, or locking me in the closet with no light. And I thought of the prize that waited inside the dark cavern in front of me. It wasn’t anything special. It wasn’t love or world peace or a cure for cancer. It wasn’t even a long lost relic that might shine a light on our ancestors and their dreams and ambitions. It was just money. Lots of money. Enough for someone to buy their way out of a deep hole they’d managed to dig through a wasted life of wanton debauchery.

I lowered the map. And tossed it to the ground. And turned my back on the cave and began the long walk back to the train station.