Kurz tvorivého písania skončil. Mám certifikát, ale cnie sa mi a utorkové večery sú zrazu divne prázdne. S tým treba niečo urobiť. A keď vám v takejto chvíli vesmír pošle do cesty kurz na Udemy, nemôžete povedať nie.
A tak som sa prihlásila na Creative Writing s lákavým podtitulom „Learn to write engaging Fiction, Poetry, Drama, & Creative Non-Fiction and become the successful writer you want to be“.
No a keďže som vám tu už dlhšie nič nepridala, ponúkam vám dnes príbeh, ktorý včera vyliezol zo zadania „napíš story na základe nasledujúceho popisu“.
“You are out walking through an isolated field and you stumble upon a small flag poking out of the ground. You walk over to the flag and you decide to start digging. You can’t believe what you find.”
“Ouch!” I yelled, stumbling as something sharp pierced the sole of my running shoe. “What the…”
Barbed wire. Of all things. Who the hell puts barbed wire in the middle of a field like this? There was no fencing anywhere in sight—no warning signs, no private property notices. Just dry soil and sun-scorched grass.
I’d found this trail on a hand-drawn map stuffed in an old toolbox in the basement of the house I’d just bought. There was no indication the area was restricted. It looked like a forgotten hiking path—if it was even a real one. I’d been eager to try it out, and now I might need a tetanus shot.
I looked around for more wire. One injury was enough.
That’s when I noticed it: something colorful poking up from the ground about six feet away. Definitely not a flower—not in this heat-scorched field. I limped toward it, curious.
It was a small flag—two red stripes, one white. Not a U.S. flag, and not any warning marker I recognized. Reception was decent, so I Googled it.
Antwerp. The Belgian flag of Antwerp.
What the hell is that doing here, in the middle of nowhere Appalachia?
I pulled the flag from the ground and saw something beneath the dry grass—a slight rise in the soil. I knelt and began digging with my hands. Just when I was about to give up, my fingers struck metal. A box, locked with a riddle mechanism. Rare nowadays, but familiar—I had one just like it as a kid. Muscle memory kicked in, and after a few tries, it clicked open.
Inside was a single, massive, flawless diamond.
I froze. For a full ten seconds, I didn’t breathe.
Then I ran—well, limped—back to the car and drove straight to the nearest jeweller.
He examined the diamond, looked at me, then back at the stone. Then me again. His face was pale.
“I need to call my supervisor to appraise this. I’ve never seen a diamond this big and flawless. If you could wait here, sir… just a minute.”
As he walked off, I pulled out my phone again. Antwerp. Diamond. History.
A Wikipedia article loaded.
Antwerp Diamond Heist, 2003.
Tens of millions stolen. Most never recovered. Some suspects caught. Others… unidentified.
My stomach dropped just as the police sirens hit the street.
Shit.
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