Conor thrust the spade into the glue-like clay, then stomped on it with muddy boots.
He leveraged back the handle, easing a block free. The clay stuck to the face and he slid it off with a gloved hand.
A glint of gold caught his eye. Digging at the soil revealed a solid gold band.
Clambering out of the hole he yelled to his wife. ‘I’ve struck gold!’
‘Don’t be daft, Conor.’
‘Look, see.’
She turned the intricate band over. ‘It looks like it belongs in a museum.’
‘Buried treasure! I guess I better find another spot to bury Lucky!’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
1 comment:
Oh, that last sentence is a kicker, Rob! The whole story's nicely done, and I like the way you write the characters.
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