On 30 September 2015, these three words were chosen:
I stared at the golden idol from across the booby trapped floor. It was the treasure of a lifetime and I had come so far to get to this point. But why was I hesitating? Deep down, I knew why. Rumors of the curse that would fall upon those that would dare disturb the idol had been plaguing me since I heard them. Forcing out the voice of warning swirling in my head, I moved forward dexterously avoiding a false floor plate that would surely send me to my death. To my surprise, I did not see the one just after it and I fell but manage to catch myself on the lip of the floor and pull myself back up to safety. Flustered by my close call, I took a deep breath and continued. It seemed like another hour before I came face to face with the idol. It staring me down as much as I it. I removed the idol from its resting place and half expected the temple to fall down around me, but nothing happened. I laughed aloud, relieved and pleased by my success. On my way back to town, my mouth started to bother me. It felt sore, but I chalked it up to the fact that I hadn’t had a drop of water for what felt like days. It wasn’t until the next morning, that I knew what was really going on. My mouth had become a cankerous cesspool. I pulled the idol out of the bag and it now looked at me as if it were laughing.