You would be safe to call me a cynical man and please understand I have never been accused as to even allude to love. I've always found it shoves in the face of common sense oftentimes at one's own expense and henceforth would shoo it away if it ever attempted to stay. But, I can tell you a tale of a man to whom I once called my good friend. He defended such a fool-hearty task as to attempt to outlast death to his very last breath for one second of love from a certain little dove he put above all else.

Nevertheless, you may ask why would a sane man willingly die to pry but a moments peek into the heart he did seek? I cannot speak for him when such grim circumstances ensued but will elude you to the day his heart was taken away.

In 1943 myself being a professor of biology and my friend Henry Cahill, had just signed on as our archeologist lead of an impending dig. Bringing immeasurable wit with him we all knew that to sit as the Yale department lead at only twenty-nine years old he was lucky to hold such a position. We were on a mission to retrieve an ancient artifact that dated back over three thousand years. It had endeared known only as the Pulchra Stone. To own such a treasure it was said without measure that ownership of time would be the divine result. Though to catapult one's belief to be a thief of time that was more suited to ones of more a religious incline.

Our team set out to South America devout to route the university's meager funds to ensure we were the ones to find it. Not traveling blind with an ancient scrap of a map as our guide to find this stone that Henry had shown seemed to be in an abandoned mine. Our align with the local tribe after bribing them with cases of rum quickly had us coming down a secluded jungle path directly into quite a conspicuous spathe. The victim of the previous miners' wrath it was obviously stripped mined long ago showing us to behold any remaining stone unturned was likely adjourned long ago. But Henry did insist we must enter the mine to reach the temple shrine.

The inscriptions on the ancient map being that of an Incan derive so old even before Christ's arrive didn't sly out our lead. His conceive was that we must go at least 5 kilometers below to find where the Pulchra Stone was stowed. The downward road showed us no mercy the curvy cave was inlaid with dangers every way. As we walked I felt as if we were being stalked from behind. Henry said it was my mind running away but I distinctly heard footsteps we didn't make. My take was one of the villagers had stowed away neath our jeep. As we did sweep further below we finally came to an enormous hole. The whole mission now was at risk of being scrubbed but Henry dubbed that we two slew a rope to interlope with the stone. My moaning fell on deaf ears as he proceeded to climb down not caring about my frown. Once we were down about one-hundred feet we were greeted by my ghost posted at the top apparently intent to stop us he cut the line thus realigning our fate with a date for death. With my last breath you could hear me contest "NO!" but gravities tow quickly sucked us both below.

We fell for what seemed an undreamed time but finally, we did find the bottom. The outcome was an unbelievable twist of fate as we fell into a massive underground lake. It's make though, we were in the dark seemed to be miles across. We were at a loss for words when Henry lit a flare and there staring us in the face was a quite out-of-place shrine. It shined seemingly on its own glowing a bright white it might have been our only saving grace from drowning in this lake. Making our way onto shore I implored Henry to stow the map, break our contract, and concentrate on just getting back. But he wasn't having it. Sitting on the Temple stairs he dared to read the hieroglyphs inscribed on the outward design as an attempt to get us inside.

Applying his knowledge of Quipu an ancient form of storing data for long periods of time he began to realign several lengths of knotted rope attached over the slope of the locked front door. Once more he began to twist them into one like he has done this before then, with a stout tug and a smug look on Henry's face the door opened up displaying quite an ancient place. We entered slowly braced on our guard and were immediately bombarded with what looked like a mausoleum of open graves. Skeletal remains buried in the walls of an enormous hall is what we saw as made our way through the gateway. Further, into the fray, we walked I prayed that none of the bodies came to life. They seemed to stare at how we dare tread in their eternal beds but we plebs were in dire need of shelter. Both helter-skelter we were treading on new ground bound to find a way out of this questionable route our lives had taken.

Misshapen demons carved from slate stood beside a gate. Henry quickly cried "Don't make any sudden moves!" "See those grooves!" "It would behoove you to stand back!" "Let me take a crack!" Grabbing a walking stick from his pack he pryed at the floor tiles I had almost attempted to tred. Then, instead it unlocked a trap with a giant "((THWAK!!))" The swords the statues held were wielded towards the floor. It would have tore me in two if Henry hadn't shooed me away. My need to proceed...