Word Count: 362
In the woods only the cave was off-limits. So the cave was where the boys went.
Two best friends since forever. Same block, same school, same church, and same set of problems: an older brother who did nothing but tease; a younger one who did nothing but cry and tattle. The two boys were tied closer than brothers could be.
The woods ran along the back yards of both sides of the street. Reaching in to touch the road at the bridge that jumped over the stream where the boys sometimes fished. Yawning open as the street met another at the corner. Closing shut at the dead end four blocks down. It was paradise for boys growing up, from age seven to twelve or so. Then fifteen and sixteen again when they smoked their first cigarette, drank their first beer pilfered from some dad’s refrigerator when they thought nobody was likely to notice.
But at ten, these two were still young enough to be Indians back from a hunt. Astronauts alone on the moon. Were boy-scout smart about campfires. Had strayed off most of the trails and found their way back. Knew all the boundaries where the trees thinned out into somebody’s lawn. Where the stream led to, this way and that, and the easiest places to cross. Soon the lure of the black mouth of the cave was too strong to resist.
They were smart boys and cautious. Each had a flashlight, a whistle, a canteen and a plan if they were to run into trouble or get lost. They never intended to separate but deep inside where the tunnel forked off, they decided to each take a path. Blow their whistle if help was needed. Turn back on a dead end. Sit and wait for the other to find one rather than go deeper and deeper inside.
It took only six days to find them. Each boy at the fork in his path. Though they couldn’t know it would bring them together, they’d sat instead and waited. Blew their whistles, drank their water, ran out the batteries of their flashlights. And within hours of each other, each died.
