Upon the long mahogany table: laid a sole teardrop-shaped vial.
One that gleamed and glimmered in the meticulous lighting of the red-draped chamber.
It sparkled pure golden, and concocted with fantastical intricacies swirling gently inside.
Gregory had no such knowledge about what was inside, or why he wanted it anymore, as if the strong floral fumes were slowly brainwashing him into a fatal trance. But the large bright sunspots that solemnly danced across his dilated, searching, greedy eyes, were enough to insinuate the raw desire and gluttony for the gold.
The golden liquid churned and splashed inside the corked glass vial, as if it had sensed Gregory's presence, and was trying to escape his clutches.
It was too late for that now, he was here, and that had been impossible. Gregory stretched his long spidery thin fingers onto the wood, and prowled around, coming closer and closer to the vial.
He grabbed the teardrop swiftly, and instantaneously, the trance broke.
The vial immediately felt uneasy and incorrect in his sweaty palms, asking: begging him to put it down.
Memories suddenly came flashing back to him, some of which immediately placed him in danger's path. This chamber is a trap. He moved as fast as his legs would take him with only one destination in mind: away.
He could hear the unmistakable creak of metal hinges, and the first trap was activated. Gregory dodged a sharp stone spear that soared right at his chest at the speed of wind.
Multiple other spears came chasing after Gregory as the seconds went by, he dodged all of them like he had trained. It took him a second to catch his breath, but it already took too long.
The whole chamber started to collapse, the mechanism of the trap had sprung into action, disintegrating the marble columns that held the very glass and plaster ceiling up.
Sounds of stones and plaster crumbling plunged the recent silence into a cacophony of catastrophic disaster, and large shards of glass pierced the dusty air, one impaling Gregory in the knees.
He moaned in sudden agony, and his legs stopped working.
Without warning, the vial jumped out of Gregory's grip, and the difficult deafening clang of glass against stone, was amplified a million times,
and Gregory felt like the glass shard had plunged into his heart instead.
No it can't be.
This was his whole life's work.
The chamber spared no remorse or mercy, enveloping him once and for all with the heavy rubble that tumbled down from the building like clumsy art.
YOU ARE READING
short stories ¿?
Fantasyyeah, as the title suggests, this is a collection of bits and bobs of different unwritten stories, you could check it out if you need some ideas for your work, or if you just wanna read small scenes in the stories. I might be adding more to this lat...
