The treasure was in jeapordy just beyond the 3 tiers of the wall. The boy was in a strategic position at the bottom of the tiers, but vulnerable. The enemy had no idea he was there, yet not much longer until his hiding spot was exposed.  It was a matter of time before they saw him. He had to retrieve the treasure. It was buried in the field at the top of the tier in the trees. The enemy knew it was in the general vicinity, but they didn’t have the map and key. The boy had both.

He had heard of this treasure years ago. He and his friend were entrusted it by their grandpa.  What was the treasure? It was worth selling everything they had. So they put it in a small chest and buried it in a field.  They decided to dream about it, creating a map and key.  It was their secret and it forged a bond.

The friend moved. And he told everyone. Now, the neighborhood boys were crawling the field, looking for the boy, his map, the key and the treasure.

The betrayal stung. How could he do that? What possessed him? They had a pact, a secret, a bond only cousins could have. They knew the treasure was the source of their bond and would give anything to keep it safe.

But safety was no longer a word he could rely on. The boys were swarming as the map and key were hot in his pocket. His cousin was leading the pack but without the map and key, he wouldn't find it. If he did, it was no longer a prize with meaning to it.

His cousin wanted to destroy it in front of the boy, smash it and and hand it back to him, laughing and mocking. The boy knew evil and he wasn't naive any longer.

He saw 3 options.

One: create a diversion by starting a wood pile on fire, grab the treasure and run for it.

Two: run for the hills and forget the treasure.

Or three: face the boys.

He's not sure what happened inside of him at that moment, but he decided to climb the 3 tiers and show up, right in front of them.

This threw them off, jarred their next move and his presence was shining like the sun. Clearly the boys were wavering allegiance as the cousin approached.

The boy knew how to win the crowd.  These boys were afraid of the cousin, yet they wanted to stand up to him.  The boy had learned the hard way dealing with his cousin, but now he knew what to do. He smiled with warmth and the glow was infectious. The cousin glared and a wicked look fell on his face.

Everyone followed the boy.  His cousin dared not intervene as the gang would turn on him.

X marks a spot. Three steps from the tree, 4 outside the bush and under the mulch, a box. The boy opened it and pulled out the pistol.  A .22-caliber rimfire revolver Ruger Wrangler. The boy's dad had taught him how to use it. He turned to his cousin, cocked back the hammer and took aim at his chest.

“Bang!” The boy said, pulling the trigger. Everyone screamed and nothing happened.

The boy opened the gun to an empty chamber.  Then he said, “This is what betrayal deserves, the lowest ring of hell. And I forgive you."

He knew better than to give the pistol to his cousin.  The revolver had a story, passed down from their grandpa and used for plinking with his dad.  It was jet black with a cherry wood handle.  It was in the family line, a treasure and symbolized initiation.  

All of the boys were behind him now, in silence.

The cousin turned, hung his head and walked away.

He was never to be seen again.

Peace,

Michael Ciaccio MS, LPC, SATP