At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we'd struck it rich and that we'd be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we'd spend the money. Our first choice was to pay off all our college debts. Archaeology degrees don't come cheap, ya know! Our second was to splurge- buy a new house, a fancy sports car, a freaking mountain, and whatever the hell else we wanted. We were so consumed by our own thoughts of lavishness and luxury that we didn't even give ourselves the chance to correctly observe the clandestine fluid. That was, until we noticed the smell. It was the kind of smell that could kill a man. It ripped us from our mirthful elation and dreams of tomorrow, replacing it with confusion and disgust. I immediately jumped up from the dry, dusty ground where I sat and dove away from the repugnant odor, covering my nose and mouth with the cloth of my loose-fit work shirt. In that moment, it was just that abhorrent smell and me; the men and women on my team no longer existed. Everything else faded away. It was the type of smell to haunt your worst nightmares, to seep into the comfort of your own mind and possess it completely. The type of smell you can never forget.
It wasn't our purpose to find the burial ground - if you could even call it that. The Feds already believe that the patch of forgotten land was put to use by a nameless killer who slaughtered his victims before bathing them in acid. The Feds were pretty much useless when it came to forensic evidence; they couldn't even ID the bodies. The only thing they really have left are to conduct interviews with the living - starting with myself.
And I pray to God that they never find out what I know.
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One Page: A Series of Tiny Tales
Short StoryA collection of short stories that end in just a single page. Some are happy, some are sad, and some are just downright unexpected... A/N: I own none of these stories prompts. My work simply begins where the bolded words end.
