This was a bit of story I threw together in a larger, non-fiction piece that focused on explaining my creativity and imagination. The story is interrupted at the end because the scene is suddenly pulled back into non-fiction. It's sort of hard to explain, but I liked what I was doing with this, so I hung onto it as a stand-alone piece. I may come back to this and flesh it out, someday.
Sand.
Sand as far as the eye can see. Or least as far as Marcus could see under his wide-brimmed hat. After having trekked across this desert, he began to wonder if he would be sick of the sight of sand. He knew he would be tired of finding it in his long, dark overcoat, or his dark boots, all of which matched his hat. He began to wonder if wearing black under all of this heat wasn't so great of an idea.
He climbed to the crest of a hill and looked out to the horizon, still unable to find any kind of landmark or sign. Supposedly, what he was looking for was buried in the roots of a tree that had somehow survived out in this vast wasteland known as the Purock Desert. He shifted his left arm to pull back the jacket sleeve, revealing a complicated compass that was strapped to his wrist. After pushing a button, the device displayed a holographic map of his local surroundings. It didn't reveal much more than what he could already see: nothing. At least he could tell he was heading in the right direction. He shut down his compass, shifted his clothes around in case any more sand had snuck in, readjusted the black scabbard of his broad, long sword that hung on the back of his coat, and steeled himself for more hiking.
Marcus stood out like a blemish, all dressed in black. His confident figure contrasted the ever-moving waves of pure rusty-yellow. He never found any rocks bigger than his pinky fingernail, and he was the only thing alive that he had seen so far. Not even those dreaded sandwurms the locals had warned him about. The only sound he heard that he didn't make himself was the wind howling high above him.
Finally, after several dunes of traveling, he found something different. In a sense of absolute defiance, a small but strong oak tree grew out of the sands of the desert. He had learned that the tree was magic, something almost unheard of in such an advanced age. If it wasn't in the middle of such a frightening desert or underneath the most powerful trade winds on the planet, he was sure it would have been great mecca for religious pilgrims, who still believed in the foolish, old ways, or for shameless scientists, slowly dissecting the phenomenon to smithereens. And yet, in the midst of his cynicism, he couldn't help but be awed by such a singularity. However, he shook this off after a moment or two, bringing his energies back to the task at hand: the treasure buried underneath the sand.
Marcus wiggled his fingers further into his gloves and began to dig, by hand, under the shade of the tree, which had cooled the sand considerably, making the work easier than he expected. He thought that he might shuffle some down the back of his underclothes to help fight off the oppressive heat, and he smirked at the irony.
The sun was beginning to set when he found the tree, but he wouldn't be finished digging until well after it was set. As it grew darker, he pulled out a small flashlight he had in his pocket and held it in his mouth to illuminate his work. He dug with consistent energy, never stopping to eat or rest. These necessities were lost to him as a side-effect of his temporary immortality. However, the non-humanness of his nature would expire in a few years, but he found that such living was very convenient for his quest.
The quiet night had comfortably settled before Marcus's gloves struck something other than itty-bitty pieces of rock. He took the flashlight out of his mouth to get a closer look at he had been hoping to find. He plowed further and found the wooden chest he had been searching for all these years. He unearthed it, bringing it out into the moonlight, whose source had now risen well into the starry sky.
The chest was ornately carved, but Marcus couldn't tell if it was carved by hand or by the sand it sat next to throughout the years. Still, he could tell it was pricey wood, hardly ever found anymore due to that species well-known extinction. The only piece of metal the chest had was the latch in the front. There wasn't any lock or trap as far as he could see, and began to fear if this was just too easy to be true.
He undid the latch and opened the lid. Inside the chest, he found an old photograph and a chain with a vial of clear liquid and a small key linked to it. However, before he could examine the contents, he saw something else: On the underside of the lid, the name “Cassandra” had been neatly carved. Suddenly, he felt nostalgic, like the name meant something to him, but he couldn't recall why. Yet, it seemed important, so he made a note to remember that name.
The chain was simple and made of gold. The vial of clear water was glass, but he couldn't open the stopper and wondered if it wasn't magically sealed. The key was simple as well, having just two short teeth and a triangular handle with a square hole that the chain pass through. While these small items looked insignificant, he could tell that he needed them.
Then, Marcus reached in and pulled out the photograph and found it to be the most shocking discovery of the journey. In it, he found himself, cheerfully smiling, his arms wrapped around a young, blond man on one side and a beautiful brunette girl with glasses on the other. The photo seemed to picture them as close friends, but he couldn't remember these two people at all, and, as best as he knew, he hadn't had his memory altered by anything or anyone in the slightest. He wondered what all of these things meant, wondered if “Cassandra” was this girl. And because the three figures took up most of the picture, he couldn't only see a few trees in the background, not a real clue at all.
He put these treasures in an inside pocket of his coat, planning to show them to the professors back at the college whom he allowed to experiment on him. He thought that perhaps they could reveal more about these items than he could discern here in the dark. He gathered himself up, then turned and hiked his way back across the desert, not feeling any closer to-
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