Incriptions
Entry posted by EmperorWhenua
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“By jove, I’ve found it!” the archeologist exclaimed as he stepped into the tomb he had searched for all his life. He was an old man now, wrinkled face worn from years in the sandy wastes searching for something in what many called a fool’s errand. But now, as he entered the thing he had sought out for almost his entire time on earth, there was no pride, no “I-told-you-so” emotions, no enmity towards his ridiculers, instead he was overcome with the simplest sort of joy that rendered him speechless. His happiness was unrestrained and contagious.
He said nothing save for his eureka exclamation from the moment he went in to the moment he came out, and when he did, he was bet by a barrage of equally astounded students and assistants. He was happy as was his companions, content that they had all shrugged off the curse the ridiculers cast on their dear leader and his mission. So overcome with pleasure of their mind-boggling discovery they were that they seemed lost in the moment.
*****
Two weeks later, after further investigation and excavation of the tomb, he was hosting a press conference in a circus tent erected near the dig site. With him were his friends and colleagues, but most importantly there was a mural, an elaborate fresco painted eons past. It was exhibited behind them for all the reporters and critics to view in full glory. The archeologist stood at the podium, euphoric and content that his life’s mission was not for naught. He gave his lecture and answered the questions fielded, but the joy in the moment was lost when one of the reporters, on behalf of one of the old man’s enemies, a lord named Ethelred, gave a fatal question that caused the old man to look behind the mural.
All eyes were on him as he stepped from the podium and disappeared behind stone mural. The next thing everybody knew, he thudded to the ground, dead from fright. They all scattered while the reporters gathered around his body, taking pictures of the old man, dead with one hand clutching his heart and the other pointing at the inscription on the back of the mural.
It said one word that was signed, written in paint that dried in time, obviously placed there previously.
“HOAX
-Ethel”
The old man who lived for naught died for not. My friends, remember this cautionary tale, and above all, remember that words do kill.
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