It had to be done in the cover of darkness.
“We’ll be rich!” I cried, pulling up the chest we had chanced upon that morning amid the leaves.
Rowan laughed, nodding. We were two orphans of whom no one expected anything.
The sound of our oars echoed as they cut the water.
A small blub broke the silence, as water began to seep in.
“We’ve to drop the chest, or we’ll never make it,” I cried.
The splash told I was wrong.
“Plan B. I’ll be rich,” I heard, the cold waters pulling me down as the boat moved away.
(© 3rd February 2016)