Ciudad de los Muertos - Wednesday Writing Essentials

James swung his machete rhythmically as he hacked his way through the thick jungle growth.  He hummed the tune to Queen’s We Will Rock You to keep in time to his swings.

We will :: hack ::

We will :: hack ::

Rock you! ::hack::

When the clearing suddenly appeared James nearly fell over.  His arm swung and hit nothing, and then he just managed not to chop off his leg.  He staggered a bit, then righted himself, pausing to wipe a sheen of sweat off his brow.  His jaw dropped as his eyes fell upon the temple.  He’d found it!  Ciudad de los Muertos: City of the Dead.  After four months of sloughing his way through the rain forests of Brazil, enduring mosquito bites, hunger and a mild bout of malaria, he had finally reached his goal.

The ruins rose several hundred feet into the air, but its top was still below the canopy of the surrounding trees.  The top of the temple was host to its own miniature forest, which explained why he was never able to spot it from the air.  Its massive cuts stones were strangled in creeping vines, the green tendrils forcing the stones apart, consuming it.  The dead eyes of its many gods stared down at him mournfully.  Our worshipers have forgotten us, they seemed to plead.

Cautiously James walked closer, his eyes wary for any predators or ancient bobby traps. The prophecies of old Sam poured over him: Beware!  The temple protects its dead.   Old Sam had disappeared into these jungles twenty-five years ago in search of Ciudad de los Muertos, vanishing without a trace.  Well, not quite without a trace.  A year ago a Tupinambá tribesman had come into the town of Pôrto Velho with a backpack he had found snagged on a branch in the Amazon River.  He had sold it to a local businessman for twenty American dollars.  Most of its contents were ruined from being so waterlogged, but it did contain a rusted metal box that somehow managed to remain sealed after all those years in the water.  Inside it was a unfinished journal…the same journal James now carried in his breast pocket.

Now if only he could find his way inside and not end up like Old Sam.  Straightening his shoulders, James entered the shadow of the temple.

Prompts for February 3, due by February 9:

·          Include a number (twenty-five)

·          Include a line or phrases taken from one of the wwe submissions from last week.  Be sure to note the author in some way.  (Ted's Last Ride - Wednesday Writing Essentials by Sheila Deeth)

·          Include the words hungry (hunger) and the name of a country (Brazil)

·          tag with gwwe  (please note the new tag)