It was perfect. the winds, the disapproving greys of the clouds, the tall palm tree behind Zaya’s house, wildly shaking about; almost begging me not to pursue. It was the coldest night in Egypt.

I didn’t feel the cold. Only sand, and dust, and dry old leaves; clinging on to me, as they always have. Today, I was grimier than usual.

I had watched her from a distance, from below and up close. Every night, I did. I watched Zaya stand in places I did. She sat and drank in corners I did. She was wrong to invade my home.

…….

As the night got more sore, I felt a grin appear on my face. I wrapped my face back with the bloody bandages. It was the only linen I owned now.

The winds were not forgiving, and neither was the rusty axe I was dragging along. The metal clanking was muffled by the rustling of the leaves. I knew it to be right. I was right. As I got further; further towards carving her into a beautifully bloody corpse, I knew she was the perfect sacrifice for my resurrection.

…

I was to be pharaoh again.

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Hey everyone! Hope you enjoyed reading this short story as much as I did writing it. I have a deep interest in the ancient Egyptian civilization, their culture and beliefs. And hence the inspiration for my story. I believe, to be able to write, bearing no burdens of reality clouding your imagination to create the unspoken or unheard, is truthfully the most purest form of art. I am not that active on my blog, in terms of being able to post regularly, and that is certainly influenced by the weight of my thought process before I write anything. I think I’ve only just begun to explore the depths of my interests in writing, and how other forms of creativity could also impression that. I’m thankful to everyone of you who took time to read this article and hope to post something interesting soon!