The Sack of gold- Dry as a million deserts, stuck inside the heat. Sack slung over shoulder, staggering, blistered feet. He travels while thinking, though the heat had ate his mind. He wonders if he’ll melt, into a puddle of some kind. His sack seems to get heavier, his grip threateningly weak. He groans untill his voice gives out, and gets back on his feet. He wishes to sit down, and rest for a small while, But if he does he’ll burn, And he’ll never make the miles. He sighs a heaving sound, and wonders if he’ll toast. He travels on, flicking flies, As his skin sizzles and roasts. The heat was eaten up by sea, roaring and crashing and cold. Thunder rumbled high ahead, lighting up his sack of gold. The puddle he melted to before, is pounded down by rain. And he clutches onto his single sack, worrying he’ll go insane. His hat is tucked low, but his determination high. But he wonders if he’ll ever see the doorway to arrive. He drags himself off his boat, and splutters out sand and salt. He gazes up to the once dark sky, which is now cyan and cobalt. Tiny delicate things prickle his arms, and freezes his hat hard. He shivers once and shivers twice, His hopes of home seem barred. Icicles hang from what once was a shrub, a barren and lifeless plea. He wonders if he will end up like that, stuck until he’ll freeze. But he remembers his treasure and he travels on, his feet sinking into the snow. The pounded puddle he was is now thin ice, And he travels as cold wind blows. He is glad to see the sun again, but he isn’t to be damp. His feet splat into the endless mud, and he starts to set up camp. He’s been travelling for four days or so, and he hasn’t seen the end. He wonders if it’s all worth it, as the days and hours blend. His eye catches the gold, and his greed ignites a fire, one that will consume the entire world and one that will never tire. Though his pounded frozen puddle, is now also sticky and wet, his greed engulfs his feelings, and chases away his fret. Through dry and wet and cold, through terrain thick and thin. Through places that never forgive, all lead to a hard earned win. He saunters right back home, his chin raised high. He swaggers into his room, and unwraps the sack’s tie. He thought he’d see endless gold, but instead it is just dirt. A hole in the sack, in the shape of a smile, Laughing as he hurts. The pounded frozen, sticky puddle, was all made out of greed. He throws the sack far away, As his dignity bleeds. All of that for nothing. All of that for what? All of that he travelled, thinking he won the lot. But all he won is doubt, Running through his veins. Thinking of what a terrible person he is, Leaving a pitch-black stain. He goes to pick up the sack, and hangs it on his shelf. A reminder that he once cared, about gold, not himself. 9.5) Haha you really though I would put the last hint here! No, of course not! There's one last hint ( promise) and it is still in my profile. But first lets have a toast for making it this far. Have fun! (If you have just read this without doing any of the previous hints, go to my profile and read the about me.)
