Avarice

He opens the chest.

It smiles back at him.

His own face: muddied, mottled in water.

The blurring of features, pinpoint eyes,

The flush on hungry cheeks.

The stubborn silence of silver and gold.

Wait!  Of course!

It’s beneath the water!

He plunges his hands in.

Heart pounding.  Eyes racing.

Flickering across his own reflection,

Murdering his image.

Hunting – hunting – hunting.

Where is it?

His hands come back wet, come back empty,

He remembers them wet with blood.

All that glitters.

He remembers what glitters.

He plunges his hands back into the water.

Up to his elbows.  Head spinning.

I have to have you.  I have to have you.

Picture credit/discredit:  author's own work