The treasure map had been given to me by the king, a wise man who knew I was right for the job. “Find the treasure young explorer. But be careful, there are many dangers along the way,” was what he said to me as I was handed the rolled map. I unrolled the ancient map and studied the details; dangers indeed, a parch desert and an area called the canyon of death were just a couple of the obstacles to overcome.

           
I gathered my supplies and left the palace, ready for what lay ahead of me. My first obstacle was to climb the Redrock Mountain, a large mountain with a gradual slope that many underestimated, its loose boulders causing un-expecting climbers to fall to their death. Both sides of the path were covered with thick vines and several times I found myself hanging onto them tightly as I ascended to the mountain’s summit. At the summit sat the ‘Gate of Truth’; built by a race of magical mountain natives to keep those without a pure heart out of the jungle. The ‘Gate of Truth’ was a huge stone wall with a single arm-hole carved into it. The only way to open the gate was to place your arm into the hole and grab a hold of the lock’s lever. If your heart was true, the release of the lever would unlock the gate and you would be permitted to enter the mouth of the jungle. But, if your heart was not pure, you’d loose your arm by the way of a guillotine. I approach and the sweat built up above my eyebrows as I placed my arm into the hole. I found the lever and closed my eyes; on faith alone, I pulled the lever. Then there was a click. I had done it, the gate swung open and the jungle was in front of me.

           
The jungle was thick and overgrown with lush green vegetation. Birds and monkeys sang and yelped at my arrival. I pulled my machete out and started to blaze a trail through the mass of vines and branches. In the distance I could hear the steady beating of a tribal drum. I needed to be careful, the tribes of the jungle were well known to be cannibals—and they liked white meat. The cannibals were near, and I could smell them cooking over an open fire and hear their tribal music pounding away. I had just made it past the cannibal’s territory when I heard the rushing of a flash flood. I needed high ground and quick. I saw a large tree and climbed for my life, hand over hand, branch over branch; and then I was safe, the flood passed. Perched high in the tree canopy I could see a thin line of tan land in the distance, it was the desert. I checked my map and plotted a course, climbed down the tree and made my way to the desert.

           
It wasn’t long after that I spotted the desert through the tree line. The sun was beating down on me and I could feel the heat bouncing off of the ground. I checked my water and stepped onto the dried soil. It was going to be a long and hot hike across the desert and I couldn’t help but watch the vultures circling overhead. My water was getting low when I spotted a lake in front of me. I ran to it. It was a mirage—heat waves reflecting the blue sky. Devastated by the low water level I pushed on, just a little farther to go. I saw water again and shrugged it off. Then I noticed that it was getting closer and that a river really was in front of me. Better yet, there was a boat sitting along the shore. I climbed in and soon found myself fighting raging rapids, dodging rocks, and sliding down small waterfalls.

           
As the waters calmed I saw that I had arrived to my next obstacle; the ‘Canyon of Death’. A narrow passageway stuffed with vines and giant spiders. I pulled out my machete again and stepped in. I could feel the spiders watching me, waiting for me to get to close. I hacked away at their webs and the vines, continued to push my way through. I was almost out when something caught my eye, the hat of a past explorer, all that was left after the spiders had gotten to him. I shivered at the thought and stepped out of the canyon.

           
I checked my gear and shook off the willies, and then consulted my map. Just a little farther to go and I should be able to see the twin temples; and then passed that, the treasure. I walked and walked until I stood at the base of the twin temples. They were huge and built with brownish colored stones. I was astonished by them as I walked past. According to the map, the treasure would be in a large chest hidden near a large wall. I searched and search until I found the clue I was looking for, something out of place. It was there, the chest filled with large gold nuggets. I lifted them out of the chest and held them in the sun.

“Clunk,” that was the sound that signed my fate; “clunk” and I was left to die; “clunk” and I was alone with only my thoughts. It was supposed to be so simple, and it had been until that god awful sound. It all started two weeks ago on a Tuesday afternoon. Mac had come over for a beer and he started talking about one final score; the type of score where you’d move to Mexico afterwards. He said that he knew a guy on the inside; he had all of the codes, plans, amounts, and even the staff schedules. I had no reason to doubt Mac, he had never gone wrong before and we had done several jobs together; fifty to be exact. Scams, robberies, thefts, you name it; we cashed in on it. In fact, according to the Seattle police we were a regular two man crime spree.

           
Of course it hadn’t always been like that, I was an innocent kid at one time too, just like everyone else. Funny how death knocks and a man will think of himself as a kid again. I don’t know if it’s fear of judgment or regrets from my past—but I wish I was innocent again. It was so long ago, what had happened to me? Where did my innocents go? Did it start as a child when I refused to share my toys? Or was it the adrenaline I felt as a teen when I lifted my first CD? I was thirteen when I stole my first CD, I was so scared and then excited when I realized that I had gotten away with it. By the time I was fifteen I was a regular kleptomaniac and CD’s, clothes, what ever I wanted was mine for the taking. But it wasn’t enough was it Tony? Now look at your self you fool, what have you done?

           
No it wasn’t enough. And when I got my license it opened a whole new world to me and I wanted things for my car. Why work like everyone else when I could just take it? And so I took, and took, and took. Finally I was caught at the age of eighteen stealing a car, I wasn’t going to keep it, just use it for parts. The judge only gave me four months because it was my first offence and I was out in two. Then a few months later I was caught again in a stolen car, only this time the judge gave me eight months. Of course it didn’t help that I had a trunk full of stolen items from a house I had broken into. That’s when I met Mac, in the King County Jail, he knew so much about making money. Mac knew what to take and where to sell it. He still had four months to go when my time was up and he gave me his number, said to call him when he was out, “we can cash in,” were his words.

           
I guess that was my chance to change, my fork in the road. God I wish I would have taken the other road. Stopped the stealing and went back to New Mexico, lived near my family and gotten a job like everyone else—just lived like a normal person. But no, you couldn’t do that Tony, could you? Nope I called Mac looking for the next dose of adrenaline and the fame of a big score. Mac and I got together when he got out of the KCJ and he took me out drinking, and a little partying. He had me in such a trance, everyone respected him; he had the money, the drugs, and the girls. That first night out with Mac was when I was given another chance to get out, “you wanna part of this?” he asked. I should have walked.

           
I wonder what life would have been like if I had walked, if I never stole my first CD? I’m thirty seven now, old enough to be married and have kids of my own. It was to late now, I should have walked—I wanted kids. Why didn’t I see that then? Death sure can bring to light what you really want in life. Now look at me, alone and stuck in this man made tomb.

Tomb…oh god, it’s getting harder to breath! Thoughts are racing.

What’s my favorite color? Blue. I’m going to miss the taste of warm apple pie. I hope Mac gets caught for this. Wait, I have a pen! I can leave a note on the wall; what was his last name? Bordin, Mac Bordin. Maybe I should leave a note for the cops who find me in the morning? Would they care? Does anyone care about the last words of a dieing criminal? Please just one more chance—I don’t want to die yet.

It’s harder to breath, I’m getting lightheaded.

Getting tired, might blackout, I should right my note…say goodbye.

It all began in April on a lazy Sunday morning. I had woken up early as usual and stepped into my slippers, donned my wool robe, and headed to the end of my driveway to retrieve the Sunday paper. That’s when I saw it! That dammed mound of dirt; a lone island of destruction among a sea of lush green, well cropped, and well nurtured grass. I was furious. I had the best lawn in the neighborhood—envied by many. I have a ritual for my lawn and I stick to it religiously. First, I water the grass every morning. Second, I give it fertilizer and comb it for any signs of weeds or bugs. It gets mowed every Sunday evening and my lawn’s edges are trimmed by hand; well defined because of it.

           
But now my lawn had been invaded by a heartless vandal, a demon of a critter who could care less about my ritual of lawn care. Sneaking onto my property in the dead of night to wreak havoc with my prized possession. My whole ritual was now askew, I had an ugly dirt mound to contend with; and worst yet, a dammed mole to get rid of. “I’ll show you!” I said to myself as I stormed into my house. My wife had seen the mound from the kitchen window and didn’t argue with me when I said that I was going to the store after breakfast. She knows how protective I am over my lawn and keeping me home would have been impossible. My mind was a buzz with ways to get rid of the mole; poisons, traps, whatever it took—I’d get it.

The trip to the hardware store netted a steal trap and some bait. I went to work as soon as I got home; removed the dirt mound and exposed the hole created by the pest I loathed. I set the trap and replaced the dirt. All that was left was to wait, wait until the invader was no more. I sat on the porch with my wife and stared at the spot of dirt, sipping ice-tea periodically. I couldn’t help but think that the mole was already caught, and it took everything in me to leave the trap alone. My wife, Ethel, just watched me with a smirk and said, “Oh’ George, you’re going to think yourself into a headache staring at that thing. Come inside and watch T.V.”

           
It was late in the night by the time I fell asleep, I was anxious to dig up the trap and see my adversary. I felt like a great warring general waiting to see if a plan of attack had worked. A simple rodent was no match for me. I earned a college degree at a young age and had retired after a career as an engineer. I could easily out smart a small rodent and this mole problem would be over by morning. At least that was what I though as I fell asleep.

           
I nearly had to pinch my self to see if I was dreaming; stuck in a nightmare. I stood there in my robe just staring in horror. One, two, three, four! Four blasted dirt mounds! And the bait had been pushed to the surface and was conveniently set next to the hole as if the dammed mole was mocking me! I cursed at the situation, and Ethel scolded me for doing so in earshot of the neighbors. “The neighbor, that’s it, Mike would have an idea”. I said to myself. Mike always had good ideas. And he did, he suggested placing bubble gum in each hole. The mole would be attracted to the sweetness of the gum and eat it, then not being able to digest the gum it would starve to death. I ran to the store and bought four different flavors of gum, cherry, mint, cinnamon, and original. Once at home, I removed the dirt mounds as I had done the day before and placed a piece of gum in each, then covered them.  

           
Tuesday morning I was sure to have killed the little devil, but again I stood there in my robe and slippers awestruck. Four more mounds pocked my lawn, and as if that was not bad enough, all four pieces of gum sat on the grass next to the mounds. This was a crisis, I now had eight ugly dirt mounds scattered about my lawn. “That’s it! I’ve had it!” I screamed in frustration as I marched to my watering hose, “I’ll flush the bastard out!”

“George, don’t do anything stupid, just call an exterminator.” Ethel pleaded to me as I unscrewed the head from the hose and shoved the hose into one of the holes. I should have listened to my wife, but I was determined. No dammed rodent was going to mock me, no sir. I turned on the hose at full blast and smiled as I watched the hose stiffen from the surge of water. It hissed and spat as water pored into the hole. I laughed in triumph; this would get him, I just new it. Ethel gave up and went back into the house shaking her head, speaking to herself in the process, “boys will be boys”.

           
With each of the holes being thoroughly doused I turned off the water and assessed the damage. The lawn around the mole mounds was soaked and muddy; it would take at least a month to repair the damages, but the mole was dead and it was worth it. Ethel made me a cup of coffee and then returned to her game shows. I sat on the porch and sipped my coffee as if it was a reward for a victorious battle. I had won, the mole was gone and my lawn could be fixed, life was once again perfect.

           
Then Wednesday morning brought even further frustrations. Lets just say that the term “Hump-day” has a new meaning for me; five more “humps” marked my lawn! Thirteen dirty mounds now left a hideous mountain range across my lawn. Drastic times take drastic measures; I was bringing out the big guns! “I’ll blast that bastard devil mole out of the ground!” I yelled to no one in particular and stomped the ground in defiance. I ran to my garage and pulled out the ladder, climbed to the top rack of my storage shelving. “Aaha! There they are,” I said as I pulled down last years leftover fireworks. A few minutes later I had rigged longer fuses on the M80’s and collected the ‘Artillery Shells’, you know, the type you set in a tube and it shoots up into the air and explodes in an array of colors. I lined up my arsenal and stood over them with my hands resting on my hips.

           
I buried the first M80 and left only the fuse hanging out of the mound, I then lit my lighter and ignited the fuse, stepped back, and waited. A low thump shook the ground as the shock wave raced across the ground. I whooped and hollered like a mad man, I lit every M80 and felt like a kid again; this would surely kill that dammed mole! Now for the grand finally, the ‘Artillery Shells’, I had four to use and I carefully placed them in mounds then buried them. I had just twisted the fuses together so that one flame could ignited them all when Ethel stepped out side, I had forgotten that I told her I was stepping out to get the paper, that was over a half hour ago. “George, what on god’s green earth are you doing?”

              
“I’m take’n care of this dammed pest Ethel. What do you think I’m doing?” I lit the fuse and stood up. I walked to Ethel with a victorious grin on my face, “now I’ve got him.” Then the smoke of the fuses went under the mounds and a second later my lawn shook violently and a loud explosion ripped through the neighborhood followed by a storm of dirt raining on Ethel and me. I slowly turned and faced the destruction in disbelief; four large craters pocked my lawn and water began to leak out of a ruptured water line. “Dam it George! Grow up and call the exterminator!” Ethel fumed and then stormed into the house.

           
But I didn’t call the exterminator, this was personal and I wanted the kill. I turned off the water line and grabbed my shovel. I dug and dug until noon and never saw that dammed mole. By dinner my lawn looked like a construction site, huge holes were all over the place and long trenches stretched across the yard. I was covered in mud, grass, and sweat. Ethel was so mad at me that she locked me out of the house; I just sat on the porch and stared at my yard. My neighbors walked past in disbelief and whispered to themselves. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw it!

           
It scurried across the lawn from one hole to another. I jumped to my feet and charged the mound with my shovel in hand. I swung as hard as I could at the mound and the metal tip of shovel sparked on a rock in the process. I missed! The dammed thing went underground, but now I knew where he was. I dug the tip of the shovel deep into the ground and wildly threw dirt over my shoulder. Ethel just stood by the window with her arms crossed and shook her head at me, but I was determined, he was mine! I dug deeper and deeper but still no mole. My hands blistered and I cursed and laughed in frustration, I hate moles! He was going to pay for damaging my lawn, “you just wait!”

           
It was getting dark and Ethel finally let me back into the house. She heated some leftover meatloaf and poured a glass of ice-tea. I was so frustrated and tired that I could barely eat. Ethel didn’t try and get me to call the exterminator; she knew it was useless to do so. Besides, the damage had been done. My beautiful lawn was a war zone; I might as well turn it into a parking lot. “That’s it, a parking lot!” I exclaimed with excitement. Ethel turned to me with a frown, “George, you’re not going to turn our front yard into a parking lot, I won’t stand for it.”

           
But I was the man of the house and if I wanted to pave over the front lawn, dam it I would! In the morning I went to the hardware store and purchased cement and a mixer. I brought it home and started mixing; my neighbors stared at me with confused looks on their faces. Ethel warned me not to pour the cement, “you pour that cement George and you’ll be sleeping on the porch until next winter!” 

           
Then out of the corner of my eye again; I saw him, poking his head out of the ground. He was out of reach and all I could do was watch him in anger. The mole exited his hole and started for another when out of no where. The neighborhood cat pounced from the bushes and landed on the mole. I just stood there with my mouth wide open. That was my kill! I wanted to kill the dammed mole, I deserved it! But it was too late, the cat took the mole and ran off and disappeared. I threw the bag of cement I was holding to the ground, smashing my foot in the process, “dam it all to hell!” Then for the first time I came to my senses and laughed as I looked around. How could one small rodent drive me so mad?