A work of fiction in which ultra-competitive brothers unearth a transformative nugget of treasure…
by: Stetson Ray
Joe was seven.
Rob was eight.
They were brothers, and everything was a competition, so when their mother told them secondhand shopping was like a treasure hunt, they took it literally. The contest to see who could find the best treasure was on.
Rob won the fight to be the first inside the thrift store. He always won the physical competitions, being a bit older and larger than Joe. Rob ran to the other end of the store and Joe followed. When the boys saw the toy section, they froze. Before them were shelves upon shelves of playthings. Piles and piles. Bins and baskets full. The pre-owned trinkets took up an entire corner of the store.
They began digging.
Rob yanked a xylophone from a basket and said, “Look what I found! It’s a piano!” He struck the instrument with the attached plastic mallet, smirking at Joe.
Joe found a small drum and began beating it with an open hand. “This is louder, Rob. Way louder!” he exclaimed.
Bong. Bong. Bong.
Joe was right. People in the parking lot could probably hear it.
Rob dug through a bin and came out with a robotic dog. He flipped the switch on the bottom and the dog started moving and barking, its LED eyes flashing.
“I’ve got a pet robot!” he cried. “It’s way cooler than a normal dog!”
Joe searched through a large bin and found a Nerf gun (no darts of course), a firetruck, some legos, dozens of naked barbies, but nothing to top what Rob had found. Then he spotted something. It looked like the hilt of a sword. He grabbed it, pulled, and the sword slid out of the toy-pile. The blade caught the light and shined bright, smooth as a mirror.
“Look what I found!” Joe cried. “It’s a real sword!”
It wasn’t. It was a toy, plastic with a shiny finish.
“That’s just a stupid play-sword!” Rob shrieked. “I’ve got a robot!”
“This isn’t just a sword,” Joe replied. “It’s Excalibur, Sword of King Arthur!” He held the blade above his head with both hands and swung it around a few times. “You know what this means? I’m the ruler of England now. I’m the king of a whole country!”
Rob’s face turned red. Obviously, being king of a whole country was cooler than a dog, even if the dog was a robot. Joe was about to win their little competition.
Rob grabbed the first thing he saw, an empty water gun, and said, “Oh yeah? This is a photon energy beam blaster!”
“Nuh-uh!” Joe said. “That’s just an old water gun.”
“Nuh-uh! It’s a real photon pistol! If I shot you with it you’d turn to ashes!”
“Fine! I’ll find something better!”
Joe dropped the sword and climbed the nearest shelf thinking there might be something hidden up high where neither one of them had checked. He swept his arm across the top of the dusty shelf and his hand met something. He grabbed it and jumped down and looked at what he had found. It was small and square. There were only three buttons on the box’s surface, all unmarked. It looked like an old calculator.
“What’s that?” Rob asked.
“It’s an intergalactic communication device, it lets me talk to aliens! If I push this button the aliens hear everything I say. And if I push this button, they’ll send the mothership!”
“Nuh-uh! You’re lyin! That’s just an old calculator!”
“You’re just jealous I found something better than your crappy photon!”
Rob snatched the device out of Joe’s hand and pushed one of the buttons and said, “Hey aliens, if you can hear me then why don’t you come down here and pick me up? Hello? Anybody there? Didn’t think so!” He laughed and tossed the device into the toy pile.
“Time to go boys,” their mother called from the front of the store.
Rob took off running, still laughing.
Joe stomped after him, defeated and fuming.
It was hot outside and there was nowhere to hide from the sun in the thrift store parking lot. Halfway to the car, Rob — always the sore winner — turned around and stuck his tongue out at Joe.
Then, the temperature dropped fifteen degrees. They found themselves in the shade. Rob looked up. So did Joe. There was something enormous hovering in the sky above them. Something big enough to block out the sun.
Stetson Ray lives in the hills of East Tennessee and spends most of his time writing.
