The Legend of the Bullseye $2 Coin
The Coin That Shouldn’t Exist
It started with a rumor.
I was in the back corner of a dimly lit antique shop, flipping through a dusty tray of old coins, when the shopkeeper, a wiry man with a conspiratorial grin, leaned over the counter.
“You’re into errors, yeah?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, intrigued.
“Ever heard of the Bullseye?”
“The what?”
“A $2 coin,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “The color ring’s on the wrong side—framing the Queen instead. Almost impossible to find. Most collectors think it’s a myth.”
I chuckled nervously, unsure if he was serious. But his words lodged in my mind like a splinter. A coin like that wasn’t just a minting error—it was a legend.
A Hunt Worth Chasing
The Bullseye haunted me. I started spending hours trawling online forums, numismatic blogs, and auction sites. Most leads fizzled out into dead ends, but every now and then, someone would post a grainy photo or a half-baked story:
- “My mate’s cousin found one in a vending machine.”
- “Spotted at a flea market—gone before I could grab it.”
- “Fake. Definitely fake.”
The more I searched, the more obsessed I became. I began hoarding $2 coins, scouring through rolls from the bank late into the night. My kitchen table became a battlefield of scattered coins and magnifying glasses, but the Bullseye eluded me.
Friends teased me for chasing a ghost, but I couldn’t stop. The idea of finding something so rare, so improbable, kept me going.
A Whisper in the Wind
Months passed, and the hunt grew cold. Then, one evening, I found myself at a coin fair in a neighboring town. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow—rows of tables draped in faded cloth, collectors murmuring over rare finds.
At the far end of the room, a small stall caught my eye. It wasn’t flashy—just a battered display case and an elderly man with a sharp gaze. His sign read, “Oddities & Errors.”
I approached, scanning the coins under the glass. My heart stopped. There, nestled among the jumble, was a $2 coin with a crimson ring encircling the Queen’s portrait.
“Is that…” I stammered, pointing.
The man looked up, his expression unreadable. “The Bullseye?” he said, almost lazily. “Aye, it’s real.”
The Price of Obsession
I reached for my wallet without thinking. “How much?”
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Not for sale.”
My stomach sank. “But why display it if you won’t sell it?”
“To remind folks like you that some treasures aren’t meant to be bought,” he said, leaning back. “This coin’s got a story, lad. Found it in my pocket change at the post office twenty years ago. Didn’t even notice it for months.”
I stared at him, frustration bubbling under my skin. “There must be something I can trade.”
He tapped the glass with a bony finger. “You’ve got the fever, I can see it. But let me tell you something—finding it yourself? That’s the real prize. This one’s mine. Go find your own.”
The Long Road
I left the fair empty-handed, but something about his words stuck with me. The hunt wasn’t just about the coin anymore—it was about the journey, the thrill of discovery, the stories waiting to be uncovered.
I redoubled my efforts, scouring every roll of $2 coins I could get my hands on. Weeks turned into months, each session tinged with a mix of hope and resignation.
And then, one rainy afternoon, as I sifted through yet another pile of coins, I froze.
At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. The crimson ring, slightly off-center, gleamed under the kitchen light. I turned the coin over, my hands trembling.
There it was. The Queen’s portrait, framed by the vibrant red circle.
A Treasure Found
I stared at the coin for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. After all the searching, the late nights, and the whispered rumors, I’d done it.
The Bullseye was real. And now, it was mine.
But as I held it, I realized something unexpected: the joy wasn’t in owning the coin. It was in the chase—the countless hours spent searching, the people I’d met, the stories I’d collected along the way.
The Bullseye sits in a small wooden box on my desk now, a quiet reminder of what’s possible when you refuse to give up.
And who knows? Maybe there’s another one out there, waiting to be found. If you’re lucky, maybe it’ll find you.
