You hear the crack of thunder as a man climbs from the wreckage of his ship onto the wet rocks of the shoreline, the waves pounding against what is left of the ship’s hull over and over like an ceaseless symphony upon the shore. The man wipes the salty spray from his eyes, the burning almost unbearable. His fingers cling tightly to the moss covered rocks as he carefully pulls himself from the tide line, his eyes focusing on a cave in the distance, though all that can be seen of it are just fleeting glimpses as the lightning flashes across the sky.
“This has to be the cave the old man spoke about.” He mumbles to himself as he plants his feet firmly on a ledge just above the crashing surf. He unfurls a rope from leather pouch he has around his waist, and quickly tosses one end over a branch jutting from the rock just above the cave, quickly catching the loose end as it swings back towards him. He carefully pulls himself up by the rope, making sure of his footing as he takes each step up the rock face.
Finally he pulls himself into the mouth of the cave, laying on his back for a few moments in an attempt to catch his breath, trying to ignore the feeling of a waking limb in his right leg. From his pouch he pulls out a crude lantern and a box containing a hot coal, lighting the lantern he holds it up with a squint peering into the cave. Towards the back of the cave he can barely catch a glimpse of something glimmering in the lantern light. He cautiously makes his way back to the cave’s interior. As he reaches the back wall, he notices a decomposed body, one hand clutching a silver lined book.
“This must be it!” he exclaims with a grin. He grasps the spine of the book in his hand, the decomposed hand crumbling as the book is freed from it’s grasp. With the book in hand he makes his way over to a suitable place to sit. As he takes a seat, placing the book in his lap, he reads the title.
“Treasures of the Mind”
As the man gently opens the book’s cover, a warm light caresses his face, he closes his eyes. As he begins to open them, he is in his bed, the morning sun shining through his window. He smiles from ear to ear as he struggles to get up from his bed. Grasping a crutch under his right arm, his left foot hits the floor, and he hobbles to the door of his hut commenting to himself “Another succesfull night.” As he opens the door, the warm desert wind embraces his face, and he lets out a smirk.