White beard dragging along the wet cobblestones, an old man marches forward, his back bent as a boomerang. Metallic sweat pours down his bony head. Moss lines his shoulders. 

Thick sticky mist swirls through the air as he clambers up each step. He spots the glistening gilded gate before him and sees a faded, wooden sign that says: “Those Who Seek My Knowledge Shall Master the Passage of Time.”

As soon as he pries open the gate, the old man releases a deafening scream. All signs of fatigue vanish as he rips off his shirt and swings it over his head, shoving open the gate and bursting towards the shimmering entrance! 

He trots through the empty cobblestone passage until he finds himself in front of a temple. Smiling bright as a light bulb, he proudly stands in place. 

In the very center of the temple, on top of a marble pedestal, lies a glowing Buddha about the size of his palm. On either side of the Buddha stand two menacing stone guardians. They cross their swords above the fat golden man, but their gazes remain glued to the floor.

Tiptoeing towards the Buddha, the old man keeps his eyes locked with the menacing guardians, each one twice his height and four times his width. Their lifeless expressions remain hidden beneath mossy armor, horns sharp as knives sprouting from either side of their enormous helmets. Neither of the guardians move. 

The old man continues on. When he’s within arms reach of the statue, he steps forward, then dives, reaching for the Buddha with outstretched hands!

Still, the stone guardians remain frozen. Realizing he's gotten away with his heist, the old man’s face breaks out into a grin, revealing a pair of crusty dentures. He slaps his knees, points to the statues, guffaws and skips away. 

The old man stares at the Buddha. It glows as bright as a blood moon, red light flowing and emanating from the Buddha's stainless skin, the brightness piercing the swelling smoke surging from the fat man’s belly. 

As he grips it tight, the old man's eyes begin to glow yellow with youth. Wrinkles stretch until his skin is smooth as a tortoise shell, and the aching in his joints no longer bite and snap at his tired frame. The old man laughs, brightening, bubbling, boiling with joy! But just as a rush of energy floods his bones, the man frowns, for he notices the Buddha's mouth is beginning to twitch. 

“You will,” the little fat Buddha spits, “pay the price.” 

The buddha is hot; the buddha is fire. The old man drops it, the golden figure clanging as it collides against the ground. The old man yelps, blowing on his smoldering hands. 

Just then, the tiles on the floor start to fall, the ground collapsing underneath his feet.

Two pairs of stone boots trample behind the old man as the pair of iron-plated guardians arise. Crossing their swords, they summon mini-earthquakes beneath their feet. Their horned helmets scrape the ceiling, leaving gnarly marks and scratches as they pursue the old man. With another yelp, the old man scurries away! But his next step triggers a trap: a dozen arrows whir towards him. Fueled with the power of the Buddha, the old man cartwheels, graceful as a gazelle, dodging them all. 

The roof opens and a gigantic javelin falls from the above. It grazes his ear before bashing into  the ground. Wheezing, dashing, and sprinting, the old man continues to grin and sprint and grin. His joints loosen and his spine shifts back into place. The breeze stings his eyes as launches himself away from the platform forward. 

Besides him, he notices the Buddha on the ground. In his haste, he left it behind! Zapping and crackling, strands of lightning form around the Buddha as it swells to the shape and size of a basketball, the enlightened deity’s gilded skin shining brighter than the sun until… BOOM! 

As the Buddha explodes, the old man swallows a scream and falls to his knees. 

Air thickens. He feels old again. He feels like he’s moving through tar. 

Tears pour down wrinkled cheeks. The old man chokes and gags, gasping for air. He tries to get up, but his joints ache, cementing him together, pulling him down. His feet betray him, each step refusing to push him forward. Above, the crippled ceiling starts to shake. Rocks fall. Even still, the old man can barely move. He bolts for his life, barely stumbling through the final corridor. A nearby wall crumbles, nearly killing him. 

He feels the floor shift beneath his feet. Taking one last glance behind, he sees the guardians are upon him. One of them raises its foot, but rather wIth one last desperate leap, the old man jumps into the abyss, the endless darkness enveloping him in shadow as air whizzes by his ears and the passage disappears.

I really enjoyed writing The Heist of Time for three reasons: 

1. The experience of writing a story from scratch was immensely enjoyable!

2. Because the prompt was open-ended, my ideas were not limited by others.

3. Working on this piece for weeks taught me so much about the craft of writing. 

At first, the main idea I wanted to roll with was a magical Buddha that made an old dude become young again. My first few drafts were quite rough, if I’m being totally honest. They were pretty hard to follow, and barely had any noteworthy/descriptive details. But as I edited the piece again and again, I added more showing, focused on improving my verbs and did my best to reduce repetition, clunkiness and confusing terminology. After months of hard work, this is my final product!