"Hey mom?" I called, "Come look at this!"
My mom called back, saying she would be a second; she wanted to take one last picture of the view before we headed down. Instead, my brother jogged over,
his legs visibly stiff from the last steep part of the mountain's peak. It was a Saturday, the Saturday before April break, and my family was staying in the White Mountains for the week. I prodded what I had found with a stick, wondering what could be inside. It was a small, leather trunk, with gold clasps rusted from many years of harsh weather. As my brother rounded the corner, his eyes locked on the trunk and he looked at me questioningly.
"What is it?" He asked, taking my stick and giving it a poke himself.
"Well I don't know," I responded, reaching for a pine cone to fiddle with, "I just found it here, can you go get mom?"
He ignored me, deciding instead to brush the dirt away from the sides of the trunk, unearthing it slightly. I gave him a shove, "Don't dig it up, we don't know who's it is."
He turned to face me, excitement filling his face, "What if it has something cool inside?" With that he continued to dig.
My brother was three years older than me, but apparently his curiosity outweighed his sensibility. After a bit of scraping with his hands, he managed to grasp the handle of the case and pull it out of the ground. It came loose easily, and my brother fell back with a yelp of surprise. Before I had the chance to say anything, he had undone the clasps and was pulling the trunk open. All of a sudden, I felt a wash of fear, what was in this trunk, and what if it was something bad? I tried to swat his hand off of the case but missed and hit one of the rusty buttons attaching the handle to the leather. I felt the sting of a cut opening up on my hand and felt a trickle of blood.
"Are we up to date on tetanus?" I asked, suddenly more concerned about my hand than the fact that my brother was opening a random trunk in the woods.
"Umm, yeah I think," he responded distractedly, his voice sounding distant as he opened the trunk fully. I glanced over, my curiosity reignited as I leaned to get a better view. When I saw what had my brother so mesmerized, I scrambled backward along the rock face, ignoring the fiery pain on my palm. When my brother looked at me, he seemed like he had seen a ghost, and I knew why.
In the trunk, there were pictures, pictures of us, leaning over a trunk in the woods.
My mom called back, saying she would be a second; she wanted to take one last picture of the view before we headed down. Instead, my brother jogged over,
his legs visibly stiff from the last steep part of the mountain's peak. It was a Saturday, the Saturday before April break, and my family was staying in the White Mountains for the week. I prodded what I had found with a stick, wondering what could be inside. It was a small, leather trunk, with gold clasps rusted from many years of harsh weather. As my brother rounded the corner, his eyes locked on the trunk and he looked at me questioningly.
"What is it?" He asked, taking my stick and giving it a poke himself.
"Well I don't know," I responded, reaching for a pine cone to fiddle with, "I just found it here, can you go get mom?"
He ignored me, deciding instead to brush the dirt away from the sides of the trunk, unearthing it slightly. I gave him a shove, "Don't dig it up, we don't know who's it is."
He turned to face me, excitement filling his face, "What if it has something cool inside?" With that he continued to dig.
My brother was three years older than me, but apparently his curiosity outweighed his sensibility. After a bit of scraping with his hands, he managed to grasp the handle of the case and pull it out of the ground. It came loose easily, and my brother fell back with a yelp of surprise. Before I had the chance to say anything, he had undone the clasps and was pulling the trunk open. All of a sudden, I felt a wash of fear, what was in this trunk, and what if it was something bad? I tried to swat his hand off of the case but missed and hit one of the rusty buttons attaching the handle to the leather. I felt the sting of a cut opening up on my hand and felt a trickle of blood.
"Are we up to date on tetanus?" I asked, suddenly more concerned about my hand than the fact that my brother was opening a random trunk in the woods.
"Umm, yeah I think," he responded distractedly, his voice sounding distant as he opened the trunk fully. I glanced over, my curiosity reignited as I leaned to get a better view. When I saw what had my brother so mesmerized, I scrambled backward along the rock face, ignoring the fiery pain on my palm. When my brother looked at me, he seemed like he had seen a ghost, and I knew why.
In the trunk, there were pictures, pictures of us, leaning over a trunk in the woods.
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