GOLDFIELD

This is the story, as orderly as it be, about the events of Superstition Mountain and the gold mine therein. This story has only three characters, the godforsaken mine, every fool that died goin’ after it, and me. In the wild west of what is now Arizona, lies a mountain. It’s quiet like all other plateaus in the desert. It sits, unabated by the scorching heat. This was a mountain that didn’t hear the shifting of sand nor the rattling of vipers, this mountain only heard gunshots. The mountain wasn’t yellow with limestone, it was dyed red with blood, soaked deep to its foundations. Yet below the red and rocky surface was gold, more gold than mankind was ever meant to see.