The Withered Tree

     A cold wind swept ever so lightly over my dried skin. It had been almost four months now since I had been to my cabin near Des Moines, Iowa. As I wandered through the large meadow I could see all the damage the winter had done this year with the record low temperatures. As I got closer to the rushing river it became apparent that the water had risen above the normal height as there were glacier sized ice cubs that sat where the water had receded recently. I walked to the largest one and stood on it. Mud mixed with the melting ice dripped off the sides.

     I loved this place. It was unlike any other in the entire world. My grandfather had bought the land the day my father was born, and since then all my family has been trying to make it a fun and relaxing cabin to stay in. Since his death, we had been making some alterations and getting rid of the things we did not need anymore. We found many things that my grandpa had once used, items in which we had no idea what were used for. Against my parents wishes of throwing them away, I kept them in a lockbox. The item that had bothered us all was a small golden key that my grandpa had labeled "Chest". That too I had stuck in my lockbox on top of everything else.

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