"A bronze chest!"

Hank Fowler's heart did a little jig. A bronze chest was definitely a step up from those crummy iron ones.

What kind of goodies awaited him this time?

But Hank wasn't about to pop the lid just yet. Every chest, no matter how fancy, had the potential to be a nasty surprise. Safety first, as they say. Best to figure out what was inside before going all in.

So, Hank started his usual interrogation. "Hey, Chest, whatcha got in there?"

Chest: "Guess."

"Guess your mother!" Hank muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "Look, you better spill the beans. Otherwise, it's a one-way trip to the latrine for you!"

Chest remained unfazed. "Threats? That's cute. I'm not falling for that."

Hank blinked, surprised. "The latrine is full of shit, piss, and maggots. It's disgusting. You're not even a little bit scared?" He'd used this tactic to scare the iron chests into submission before. What was with this bronze one's attitude?

Chest: "I'm a metal box, dude. One place is as good as another. Latrine? Fine by me. I can't smell anything anyway."

Hank frowned, momentarily stumped. He tried a different approach. "Is it food?"

Chest: "Nope."

Hank continued, "If it's not food, it must be something useful. A tool, maybe?"

Chest: "You could say it's a tool."

Hank's eyebrows shot up. "What kind of tool, specifically?"

Chest: "Guess."

"God damn it!" Hank was ready to smash the chest to pieces, but he held back. It wasn't worth destroying a potentially valuable item.

He took a deep breath and kept guessing.

.....

Fifteen minutes crawled by.

"Is it a hammer?" Hank asked, his patience wearing thin.

"Nope."

"Pliers?"

"Nope."

"Screwdriver?"

"Nope."

"A kitchen knife?"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Nope."

"What is it then?!" Hank was about to lose his mind.

One of the giant crabs, who'd been watching this whole charade, finally spoke up. "Boss, I don't think you need to keep guessing. If it's a tool, it can't be dangerous, right?"

"Oh, right!" Hank facepalmed. A tool couldn't hurt him. What was he even doing?

Without another word, he threw open the chest.

A brilliant flash of light erupted.

And there it was: a machete.

It was about five feet long, probably weighed a good few dozen pounds, and was covered in rust. It had a rough, unfinished look, and the blade wasn't even sharpened. It was ugly as sin.

"That's it? That's what I get?" Hank sighed, disappointed.

"Hey, I'm not that bad, you know," the machete suddenly spoke up.

"Have you seen yourself? You look like a piece of scrap metal. What can you even do?" Hank scoffed.

"Don't underestimate me. I'm sharp. I can chop wood, cut down trees, you name it," the machete declared.

"Sharp, huh?" Hank raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Why don't you test me out?" the machete suggested.

"Fine," Hank grumbled. He grabbed the machete and headed towards the only tree nearby, the same one he'd stripped of its bark the day before.

Talk about bad luck. First, it got skinned, and now it was about to get hacked. But what could Hank do? It was the only tree around.

Seeing Hank approaching with the machete, the tree panicked. "Human, what are you doing? Are you going to skin me again?" it cried out.

"Relax, no more skinning today," Hank chuckled, his gaze drifting over the tree until it landed on a straight branch. He swung the machete.

Thwack!

The branch fell cleanly, the cut end smooth as butter. The machete was sharp, no doubt about it.

"Argh..." The tree let out a yelp of pain and started cursing at Hank. "Human, go f*** your grandmother!"

Hank brandished the machete, a glint in his eye. "What was that? I didn't quite catch it."

The tree immediately cowered. "Nothing..." it mumbled.

"It's just a branch. What's with the attitude?" Hank huffed. He then pressed his hand against the cut, releasing a healing spell.

A soft, milky light flowed from his hand into the wound. The cut healed instantly, and a new bud sprouted.

"Boss, that's some impressive skill you've got there!" The machete exclaimed.

"Just a little trick, nothing special," Hank said with a smile. He turned back to the tree. "Still mad at me?"

"No, no, I misunderstood you. Thank you for healing me," the tree said quickly.

"Don't mention it," Hank said, picking up the fallen branch and heading back to the beach.

"Boss, you didn't hold a grudge against that tree, and you even healed it. That shows you're a kind and generous person," The machete remarked.

"You don't get it," Hank said, a mysterious glint in his eye. "If it grows new branches, I can chop them down again later!"

The machete: "...."

The Tree: "...."

.....

Back on the beach, Hank picked out a few intact red pine crabs, leaving the mangled ones for the two giant blue crabs. Then, he returned to his shelter.

"Boss, that's a pretty good haul today. Not just crabs, but you also found a kitchen knife," The fence said cheerfully.

"Hey, are you blind? I'm a machete, not a kitchen knife!" The machete retorted.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you clearly. You really are a machete, but you're not exactly a looker," The Fence said.

"I'm just understated. Better than being flashy and useless. You wouldn't understand," The machete huffed.

The fence: "...."

Hank opened the gate, tossed the crabs on the ground, and surveyed his garden.

The corn stalk was now over three feet tall, with three plump ears growing on it. The other plants were also thriving, reaching about six inches in height. Everything was growing beautifully.

Hank was about to head into Thatchy for a rest when Fency suddenly spoke up. "Boss, Digger is hurt."

Hank quickly turned to the entrenching tool and saw that it was covered in dents and nicks, probably from the fight with the red pine crabs.

"Digger, why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" Hank asked, concerned.

The entrenching tool: "..."

"Are you mute now?" Hank's expression darkened.

The entrenching tool: "..."

"Fine, don't talk!" Hank huffed and turned to enter Thatchy.

But as he stepped inside, he remembered something. He had muted the entrenching tool earlier because it was too chatty. Oops. He'd wrongly accused poor Digger.