HOME | DD

Description
Here I lie. Waiting. It could take years. Or maybe a few weeks. Who knows? All I know is that I’m waiting. ‘Waiting for what,’ you might say. And if I could speak, I would reply, ‘I don’t know, but I’ll know when it happens’. The hours seem to pass like years. My sense of time disintegrated a long time ago, so I have no idea how long I have been here, waiting, or how much longer I may wait. All I know is that I am waiting. I have grown accustomed to the tight, confines of this tomb-like prison. The stale, musty air feels like home. No light ever penetrates the thick oak that surrounds me and the immense weight crushing me feels comfortable. I feel this way now, because I have waited. I have been here for so long; I have forgotten what the outside world is like. Sometimes, I hear voices – all of them unfamiliar. Sometimes, they are sad. Sometimes, they are angry. Sometimes, the only thing I hear are their footsteps. Still, those sounds are not right. They are not why I relax here, Waiting. All I know is that I am waiting. It is night. I know this because of the orchestral chirrups of crickets that resinate around my husk. Then, I hear a new sound. My tomb reverberates with each tap of their feet as the ground flies away beneath them. The din subsides as the hurried person stops above me. Another sound; it is also new. The pressure above me decreases as the noise continues, filling my imprisonment with echoes. Hands hit oak and start searching, scratching on the thick surface. Suddenly, moonlight steams in. It is blinding, yet beautiful. A silhouetted figure leans over me, trying to remove the remaining roof of my prison. Splinters and shattered fragments of oak take to the skies. Fragile, delicate hands reach under my thin, bandaged corpse and lift me up, to the surface. Tools and wood litter the grounds of the cemetery and gently, I am again locked away in darkness. A body bag.

Now I am on display along with my recently reunited trove of Ancient Egyptian treasures that were ransacked from my tomb hundreds of years ago by greedy thieves. I remember now. They had taken my sarcophagus without realising that I was in it. Resting. Waiting. Waiting for my ba to return from its judging with Anubis and take me to the paradise of the Afterlife. But no. I was dumped, bandages and all, in an empty coffin and buried in a graveyard. How very ritual. If I were still Pharaoh, I would have had them thrown down a hole in the desert with nothing. See how they like it. But, I am not Pharaoh. I am a four hundred year old mummy on display in a museum. And in my opened sarcophagus, I will lie for the next two hundred years. Waiting.

Description
Here I lie. Waiting. It could take years. Or maybe a few weeks. Who knows? All I know is that I’m waiting. ‘Waiting for what,’ you might say. And if I could speak, I would reply, ‘I don’t know, but I’ll know when it happens’. The hours seem to pass like years. My sense of time disintegrated a long time ago, so I have no idea how long I have been here, waiting, or how much longer I may wait. All I know is that I am waiting. I have grown accustomed to the tight, confines of this tomb-like prison. The stale, musty air feels like home. No light ever penetrates the thick oak that surrounds me and the immense weight crushing me feels comfortable. I feel this way now, because I have waited. I have been here for so long; I have forgotten what the outside world is like. Sometimes, I hear voices – all of them unfamiliar. Sometimes, they are sad. Sometimes, they are angry. Sometimes, the only thing I hear are their footsteps. Still, those sounds are not right. They are not why I relax here, Waiting. All I know is that I am waiting. It is night. I know this because of the orchestral chirrups of crickets that resinate around my husk. Then, I hear a new sound. My tomb reverberates with each tap of their feet as the ground flies away beneath them. The din subsides as the hurried person stops above me. Another sound; it is also new. The pressure above me decreases as the noise continues, filling my imprisonment with echoes. Hands hit oak and start searching, scratching on the thick surface. Suddenly, moonlight steams in. It is blinding, yet beautiful. A silhouetted figure leans over me, trying to remove the remaining roof of my prison. Splinters and shattered fragments of oak take to the skies. Fragile, delicate hands reach under my thin, bandaged corpse and lift me up, to the surface. Tools and wood litter the grounds of the cemetery and gently, I am again locked away in darkness. A body bag.

Now I am on display along with my recently reunited trove of Ancient Egyptian treasures that were ransacked from my tomb hundreds of years ago by greedy thieves. I remember now. They had taken my sarcophagus without realising that I was in it. Resting. Waiting. Waiting for my ba to return from its judging with Anubis and take me to the paradise of the Afterlife. But no. I was dumped, bandages and all, in an empty coffin and buried in a graveyard. How very ritual. If I were still Pharaoh, I would have had them thrown down a hole in the desert with nothing. See how they like it. But, I am not Pharaoh. I am a four hundred year old mummy on display in a museum. And in my opened sarcophagus, I will lie for the next two hundred years. Waiting.