The Temple of the Lost

by Hank Mason, age 13
The Temple of the Lost Hank Mason is an incoming 8th grader in San Francisco. He is an avid reader, writer and animal lover!

“Members would be challenged to bring this imbecile of a man on an important journey. Rumor has it that multiple career-making discoveries had been foiled by the sheer stupidity of this man. Francis, however, was the best of the best, and he thought he could handle him. Now he was unsure, having actually spent time with the man.”

The sun beat down on Francis’ back as he slashed through the underbrush with his machete. He moved silent as a mouse, as enemies and predators could be anywhere.

Derrick rolled down the small hill they had scaled, crushing the contents of his pack and various undiscovered species of small mammals. He screamed, but finally came to a stop at the bottom, covered in dirt and plant bits. 

Francis pulled him out of the dirt and brushed him off. Derrick had become somewhat of a challenge in the adventuring archaeology community. Members would be challenged to bring this imbecile of a man on an important journey. Rumor has it that multiple career-making discoveries had been foiled by the sheer stupidity of this man. Francis, however, was the best of the best, and he thought he could handle him. Now he was unsure, having actually spent time with the man.

“You fool!” Francis hissed. “We are nearing the temple of the lost! There could be traps and dangerous animals anywhere! Do you even know why we’re here?”

“I really don’t and I am just fine with that.” 

Francis rubbed his temples and let out the sigh of a man who was on the verge of collapse.

“We are here to retrieve the docunlitous contigous berry. Rumor has it that one of the last few berries is in the temple– ”

A spark of intelligence lit up in Derrick’s eyes like a tiny match behind seven layers of lead.

“I remember now! The dornkus berry! It makes you not get all wrinkly and stuff!”

“Actually it halts your aging — ahh, close enough. Just stay quiet!”

For the first time on the six-month expedition, Derrick moved quietly and stealthily. Francis was amazed that this creature was capable of this, but he had other things to focus on. 

The temple rose above them. It was around twenty feet tall. Smaller than Francis had hoped, but as long as it held his prize, it could be four feet tall for all he cared.

“Who could have made such a temple?” Francis wondered aloud.

“Jo mama.”

“Shut up Derrick! This is serious.”

Francis handed Derrick his pack and rolled up his sleeves.

“I will disable any traps inside. Wait here.”

Francis returned several hours later with considerably more cuts, bruises, and spider bites than before.

“You look like crap!” Derrick remarked.

“Let’s just go inside.”

The pair nervously trudged across the hallway, finally reaching a golden case at the end of the room. Francis carefully opened the case to reveal a small purple berry. Rather unremarkable, if you didn’t know it’s history.

Francis stared at it in almost-holy reverence as Derrick plucked it out of the jar and accidentally squished it between his oafish fingers. He watched as it dripped onto the ground.

Francis stood in shock for two breaths.

Then his face contorted into a mask of anger, his body trembling in rage as he let out a primal shout. Months of putting up with this man’s unending stupidity, his mockery of the work Francis considered so sacred, and his stupid quips and ruining of equipment just ended in the destruction of what Francis had been searching for his entire life. This man… THIS MAN would pay.

He leapt across the room, his hands contorting into fists as he began a furious assault on this oaf. His fists fell like meteors and his scream was deafening, assaulting the man in his soul and his body. He screamed and screamed and screamed, until some hours later both of the men collapsed, the tension between the duo exhausted. They fell asleep, both dreading what would come in the morning.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.