Dr. Sara Von Vandal is an archaeologist specializing in ancient history: primarily Egypt. She had already been on 3 different digs, and published more papers than she could remember. One of her primary papers was the ability to compare the face of the Hor-Em-Akht, or “the sphynx,” to the faces of the people in Eritrea and Somalia. The matches were identical, as well as the pictures on the hieroglyphs, but the tidal wave of popular ignorance due to video games and movies was too much for even the most stalwart scientist to hold back.
Her fiance, Dr. Jamar Bin Ibrahim, a theologist and scripture scholar, still refused to give up in the face of the tidal wave of fanatic ignorance and racism facing his studies in ancient Bible history. But even though he is a year younger than her, his hair and beard have turned white from the stress. Sara has long given up trying to sway the public to leave behind popular false ideas, or movie imagery. She knows some do know better, obviously, but they WANT what they know isn’t true, and will scream it anyway. Sara complains using one of her favorite analogies: if they found a ancient city of animals, and the pictures the animals made of themselves show ducks, and the statues are of ducks, and the mummies show mummified ducks, and the caskets look like ducks, then there’s no rational sane way that all this imagery of a duck = horse. It’s either insanity, blatant and shameless denialism, or trolling. And it’s not trolling. So, it’s the equivalent of a child screaming that the house they are looking at and know is a house, must MUST be a rocket ship.
People are stupid. And Sara is not. She loves history, so...for her own sanity, she said to hell with the public. She accepts the obvious, she loves her history, she loves archaeology. And she’s just going to have fun, and keep her knowledge to herself like a greedy child hoarding candy. She would like to share, but the other children are too loud, stupid and delusional to deal with and not go grey behind the stress.
The 40ish doctor stands a statuesque 5’5”, with long wavy blonde hair that stretches down to her butt, facial features described as “plain,” (a 5 out of 10, she heard before), bright intelligent blue eyes behind small rounded glasses, and a gentle coke bottle figure. She squats low in the dirt, taking digital pictures of some stone foundations, and graffiti carved near the bottom. Probably by someone who thought nobody would see their joke.
Her cell phone vibrates in the back pocket of her tight khaki shorts. She has a big butt and wide hips one would call a “soccer mom ass.” The phone plays foul-languaged rap music and flashes the photo of a caramel skinned Arab-looking man with a grey afro and a stylish beard. Diamond studs decorate each ear, and he’s giving up the middle finger. She smiles wide and hits the pick-up button.
“Hey, sugar titties.”
Sara laughs out loud, causing the college students, and other archaeologists around the site to jump and stare at her, before turning back around and going back to their work.
“Hey pencil dick.”
[[I’m starting to think maybe I need to do what you did.]]
“And what’s that?”
[[Sara, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.]]
“About damn time. Your beautiful black hair is all white now.”
[[I thought they didn’t get it, or just had no legit proof to convince them…]]
[[N-n-no, no, no, this shit needs to be said.]]
[[They GET it. They GET. IT. But th-]]
“They DON’T WANT TO get it. I’ve told you this a thousand times.”
[[But seriously, they GET IT. It’s like, it’s like, you can literally PROVE it to their face. There is NO rational or logical way to get around it. I mean, I even tried my diagrams on grade school kids with simple terms, just to see if base logic without too much outside influence or fanaticism could get it. You know, CLEAN logic, not stained by mental issues, or fanatic ideologies, or any kind of brainwashing or veiled intentions. VEILED intentions.]]
“Get to it, honey.”
[[The kids all came to the same scientific conclusions I have proof for. It’s so simple that proof is only just a insurance net. So, why in the sam hell when I show these “adults” this stuff, they deny it up and down??!]]
“I want you to go to Goog-All, and look up “Denialism.” It’s when you want what you want, but you KNOW it’s not true, so you just keep screaming over and over and over it’s true. It’s like looking at a horse in front of you, but you keep yelling you don’t see a horse, because you DON’T WANT to see him. You have an intention.”
[[I want to quit.]]
“But you LOVE history!!! Don’t you dare!! You’re barely a year from getting your PhD!!!”
[[I just don’t care anymore. I mean, get it for what? For this? I’d rather go back to doing hair.]]
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”
[[More money. Less stress. Less “gates” of idiots. I mean, once I learn the shit, I can’t do anything with it because the buffoons want their fantasies and there’s too many of them.]]
“It’s not that way everywhere.”
“I’m serious, Mar. Gotta go, babe.”
“Love you, falafle.”
[[You’re so racist.]]
“HEEHEE! Hun, I gotta go, though. I’ll call you later, kay?”
[[I hear. Buh bye.]]
Sara went back to her dig, when a big commotion began. Everyone hurried around the group to hear the big news. The room to the tomb was finally safely opened and ready to be photographed and documented. Sara’s heart thrums in her chest. She can’t wait to reveal to the world all this exciting stuff she’s lea-…...oh, wait. Yeah. Sighhh.
She wishes she was British or taught in Europe, where they’d actually be interested in the things that she believes matter, and aren’t screaming some idiotic craze based on popular concepts from movies and video games. Maybe there, she’d be appreciated. Sara hates where she lives and teaches. She once signed up on Query for her students and a passion for history. And after all her factual answers were in the negatives, and posted blow buffoonery posted by a bunch of those… “gamers” they call them, or "neckbeards." She was done. Maybe one day things will change.
But as for now? As for teaching the public?
The next few days, Sara has spent all her waking hours fussing around the inside of the tomb. When not on her knees and busily documenting and snapping pictures of everything from any treasure to even ancient dust that’s been sitting there for centuries, she would spend a quick 10 minutes gulping down some food and water, before her obsession with her work runs her back. Her fiance leaves a few texts, knowing how she gets when she throws herself into her work. She’s not ignoring him, she’s just...INTO what she’s doing.
At 10:13 PM, Sara sits alone in the small stone room. The floor is tediously lined with mini-sarcophagi. Their position, order, even the inches they are from the wall, was all placed on tedious purpose ages ago. The golden sarcophagus shows a African face with big lips, a wide Somalian style nose, almond shaped eyes, and high cheekbones. The face is glistening gold, with black eyeliner and a chin-strap beard that runs along the square angle of the jawline. What is striking is a large black penis with a gold head juts up and outward from the coffin lid. A perfectly detailed, thick and straight onyx penis, with a shimmering gold mushroom head.
Resisting the urge to touch the coffin is bad enough, but her and her female colleague swallow hard every time they see that thick, smooth onyx cock. It perfectly carved and sculpted to show the realism of skin, every minute indentation and vein. A large and thick urethra on the underside of the shaft shimmers bright gold. That bullet-shaped golden tip with it’s cucumber thickness makes her wet her panties in just trying to imagine how it would feel to use one of those. Women of Khemet had sex aids. But...Sara likes to imagine that bright golden head being engulfed between her lips and feeling that shining onyx shaft disappear deep inside her. The contrast is what turns her on more than the...the….gulp...the shape.
The wall is filled with pictures of people with skin the color of milk chocolate and black woolly hair. All manner of strange looking animals line the wall, as well as nude dancing women. Wooden statues of Middle Eastern looking people, garbed in the dress of servants, line the hall, while wooden statues of African-looking men armed in the garb of lethal guards stand in front of the sarcophagus – as they have for millennia.
The symbol of a cross in a circle marks the floor. Sara has always had a burning fascination with the Egyptian religion. By studying Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, and the classic French Egyptologists, she’s been led to study the religion of the Congo: N’ganga. The same circle of life and death, the same pantheon levels of beings, nearly identical symbols, has led her to hypothesize the Congo religion and the one of ancient Kemet were one and the same. Merely, differing denominations, like Protestant Christendom and Catholic Christendom. She sees the circles and symbols of the soul’s journey to ancestor/saint hood, and carefully studies.
But something is off.
A large brass pot, filled with odd stones and still living fungus, sits across from the sarcophagus. The tomb is not unusual...except for THAT. The pile of soil that should be dry dust is still moist due to fungus growing, dying, dropping off into a pile and becoming a mass of “soil” for new fungus to grow in. A jet black mushroom rises out of the white pile of dead fungi.
She scrolls through her phone of local mushrooms. After 20 minutes of literally searching and scrolling about all mushrooms of Africa and the Near East, she bites her bottom lip in a mix of frustration and excitement. She scrolled through all fungus that possibly could've been a gift, and she found none. Nobody knows of this fungus species! Is this a extinct mushroom only still existing in this tomb? She turns her phone on to use UV light, and snaps a photo of the mushroom, capturing the sarcophagus in the background. Maybe this might get into a magazine? Maybe!
She giggles to herself with the wonder of a little girl again. That old excitement that originally thrust her into this career. Her passion begins to grow from a dead pile of disgust, just as the fleshy mushroom juts from the pile of dead fungal flesh.
Sara takes her glasses off and groans, rubbing her eyes and trying to shake off the headache. Her round lenses are full of smudges and white smears, giving her a throbbing migraine.
She snaps around, her long ponytail whipping in the stale dry room. The sweaty woman stands up quickly, looking at who she just heard sigh.
“ Lo’?! Essie?! Shimon?! .....Hello? Muhammed? Dell? ” she calls out, looking.
The bright lights of the lamps hum dully.
No other sound comes forth.
“Uhhh...I’m buggin’ out.” she rolls her pale hand over her sweaty tanned forehead. Her headache throbs and screams from her eyes looking too long through the smudgy white glass lenses. She stuffs them back in her shirt pocket, and decides enough is enough for tonight, before carefully easing out of the perfectly symmetrical tomb, sighing while climbing out.
After wolfing down a couple sandwiches, she smiles at the now-warm can of wine laid on the desk in her tent.
“Essie you dog.” Sara smiles while looking down at a printed out paper of the sarcophagus’ erect penis. Scrawled in blue pen ink is “Pharaoh Dik”, with a :P face. She pops open the tall can of British vintage, turning it upside down. How or where in the hell anyone can get wine in a can, well Essie can. She’s wild. Sara pops her now red lips, enjoying the sweet tartness of the red wine. She’s shocked at how amazingly sweet and delicious it is.
After 10 minutes of leaning back in her hammock in nothing but a button-up shirt and khaki shorts, and surfing the web on her high tech phone, she begins feel light and bubbly due to the wine. She puts her phone down and stares at the stupid picture Essie printed out.
She breathes deep, her light blue eyes staring. Her eyes touch, trace and feel every line and crease in the perfectly carved cock. She feels her braless breasts buttoned up in her shirt start to swell bigger, and her nipples jut upwards in her shirt, forming little points on top of big creamy white mountains of hot flesh. She puts the picture down and flips to some of the pictures she took of the tomb. She pulls up the sarcophagus’ face. With his high cheekbones, massive pink lips, and black jawline beard.
She lifts her knees into the air and squeezes her thighs together. Mmmh.
She flips to a picture on the wall of the man entombed. Skin the color of a Hershey bar, his huge pink lips, high cheek bones, almond shaped eyes, muscular toned body, and woolly hair laid down in a black bob like they do in Eritrea.
Her finger touches the picture on the phone, landing onto the perfectly carved abs and crease in the Hershey colored chest. Sara finds her groin is feeling slick and hot now. Her clitoris throbs and begs to be flicked and rubbed. Her labia swell up big and puffy, revealing her dripping pink. A dampness grows in the crotch of her shorts.
“Aunhhhhh…...” she sighs, putting the phone down and picking up the picture of the cock. She can’t stave it off any longer. It’s late at night, the wine is ebb-and-flowing through her blood making her muscles like jelly and her body hot. Nothing turned her on more than color contrasts, especially sexual ones. She loved the look of a dark skinned hand locked and intertwined with a light skinned one. But she loved even more to see a throbbing cock of one color to plunge and disappear between the puffy labia of another color. She imagined that onyx and gold dick. Chocolate bar colored, with a pink head, plunging into lighter skinned labia.
“Ohhh sweet jeebuz….” she shoves her hand down into shorts, rolling her fingers over clitty. But the shorts are too constricting. Nobody is awake. She’s all alone. She lifts her knees up, pulling her shorts completely off her long pale legs and tossing them into her chair. She then opens her thighs and lulls her head back into the hammock, pressing the paper against her blushing red neck. Her hand lays on top of her swollen clitoris and strokes back and forth, causing her to thrust upwards in her hand. Her brain feels bubbly, her world is teeter-tottering, her face is numb. Sara knows she’s drunk, and she’s so horny that she’s left a wet spot in her shorts. The sound of her ignited masturbation takes a slick and slippery sound, soaking her fingers and her buttocks in her flooding nectar. She fantasizes about going back in time. She always does, to meet those in the past. But now, she fantasizes about NOT learning, and NOT talking. But being a slave girl raising her ass to a man powerful enough to run the world’s most powerful nation at the time.
“Aunnhhhhh shit…..shit….yesssssss….” she feels her orgasm slowly rising up higher and higher. She rolls and twists in her hammock with her eyes closed and her long blonde hair down. She molests and grabs her breasts, before sliding her hand down her flat stomach and grabbing her inner thighs, only increasing the intensity.
“UNH! AH!” she opens her mouth and grits her teeth in a silent orgasm, spasming hard. Her bright blue eyes bulge open and flutter, looking around at the inside of her tent before she snaps in shock. A human body is standing inside the tent with her.
“YAI!” she balls up in a humiliated clench, throwing her hand over her breasts and the other over her sex. She looks up, trying to flutter her blurry vision and trying to imagine a excuse.
“I wasn’t doing anyth-WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?!!!”
She blinks hard trying to focus on the person standing in her tent. In the dim glow of the computer light, she sees someone nude. A man. His skin is the color of a hershey chocolate bar. His body is thin and muscular. Long black hair that looks like an afro rubbed down with oil or gel hangs down to just above his shoulders.
The man looks to be enamored at whatever is on her desk, bent over and looking down at it with his back to her. He stands up all the way very deliberate and slow, patiently. As if too confident to even be concerned she sees him. He turns around, and looks at her dead in the eyes. She gasps, thinking this must be a Beja man who is nude and either here to rob her or...or...or something.
Sara says in Arabic “What do you want! Get out of here!”
The man raises one eyebrow, and looks at her down his pointed Somalian nose. She’s not sure if he’s a Beja man, or a Somalian. But the point is, he’s naked. He has a trimmed chin-strap black beard that runs along his jaw line, his nails are pink and white, and the hair on his chin is long and braided into a jutting down “tube”. His lips are big and pink, African. Plump and pillowy. Then she looks down between his legs. Swinging loose is a very thick and long cock above two well-rounded and full black balls. He is shaved perfectly everywhere. He reaches out and snatches the piece of paper from her, looking intently at the picture of the sarcophagi’s cock. He scowls, obviously not happy that a woman was looking at this. He opens his mouth to say something angry, but then stares down at the obvious state he’s found her in. He stands up and folds his arm, this Beja man. Well, his beard and his mannerism isn’t Beja. But he looks completely Beja.
He looks down at her nudity, and his body betrays his facial expression. The thick cock between his legs swells out longer and longer, growing like a balloon sleeve being steadily filled with air by a machine. The massive pink head pushes out of the foreskin and the entire cock throbs hard and long into a thick and pulsing 7 inches. Sara gasps, out of shock, excitement, drunkeness, and realizing that his cock looks like a living flesh and blood version of the one on the sarcophagus. She looks down at her phone, to look at the face on the sarcophagus, and looks up at him. If his face was covered in gold make-up, it would be identical. His African face and dark skin, even his thin body and toned body, match perfectly the pictures on the hieroglyphic wall.
“C-c-coincidence...” Sara lets fumble out of her mouth. She doesn’t want to believe what her brain is trying to tell her. That’s impossible. He’s obviously some crazy guy or some rural man.
He smiles down at her and begins to approach her with a steady unflinching confidence. Sara shrinks back from him, and he gently reaches out, wrapping his chocolate fingers around her vanilla wrist.
She breathes deep, and his odor fills her nose with the scent of sweet spice, incense, testosterone, and the scent of fresh river water. He reaches down and presses his thick pink lips into her ear, then gently blows warm breath that smells like sweet spice. Part of Sara’s body roars with adrenaline and fear, but her pussy almost flushes itself. Her breasts swell so big that they feel sore and full of pressure. She reaches out her free hand to push against him, but when her hand presses against his hard rippling stomach, her clitoris almost jolts. Her hand slides down against his smooth skin and rolls against that very thick, and oh so very straight cock. It’s hard as steel, boiling hot, and throbbing. His lips touch her ear and he whispers in English through a nasally Somali-like accent: “I rule this land, little barbarian. When I say to raise, men rise, and when I say halt, even the rivers halt. You are mine, you are a sweet fig from the northern wastes of the Goth tribes, and should not the civilized tame and grow the wild under their hand?”
Sara didn’t know whether to be insulted, turned on, scared, or giddy. So, she was all four at the same time. He slid his dark hand down her chest, gently grabbing her breast and pressing down on the nipple with his hard palm while using the fingers to throb and massage the sensitive front.
“Aunhhhh….” burst out of her mouth, betraying her rationale. He leaned down and barely touching kisses her throat. His wooly black hair is cool and feels like it is gelled down and silky. He smells like sweet spice and his burning hot huge lips press and thrum to life her erogenous zone, making her groin flood. His hand holding her wrist lets go and gently slides down her arm warmly and powerful. Confident. And dominant. She thinks about swinging a slap…but instead…she lays her arm down limply and indulges her want of opening up and seeing what he’ll do next.
His lips press down between her breasts like gently pressing a velvet pillow with soft pressure, just enough to awaken and electrify every nerve in the area. Her pressed shut legs relax and open. He slides his hand down to the hand covering her groin, and his hand lays on top of hers like a human hand on a computer mouse. His fingers lay on top of hers, pressing her fingers down in a unique way like playing a piano. She feels him move her hand and press her fingers down to expertly stroke and slide along her inner labia and her clit. He puppeteers her hand to masturbate herself. Sara leans her body towards him, loving the feel of that massive cock sliding against her shoulder.
He stands up and pops open her shirt slowly, steadily and deliberately pulling the shirt apart until the buttons pop and snap, completely opening her to him and not just her breasts. She stops fighting herself and gives into her base urges, furiously snatching her arms out of her shirt, and then clenching them in a hard hug around his neck. She bites his chocolate earlobe and gasps hard in his ear. She feels his high cheekbones rise and swell, knowing he’s smiling. He’s in control. He’s confident. He’s in control.
He lifts his leg and puts one knee in the hammock, right between her legs. She spreads her legs for him and arches her back, bowing out her body in full opening to him. When his other knee enters the hammock, she slides her legs on either side of his dark toned hips, and sliding her inner thighs against his hot hard body.
Her phone, in the hammock, vibrates. But she doesn’t care right now. She’s clenched around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. She feels him keep kissing her neck and pick up the phone at the same time. He looks at the face on the phone and scoffs like a alpha male.
“A Hebrew...” he says, looking at her Arab-looking fiance. A warm wind blows from his palm, causing the phone to turn off. He drops it on the ground beneath the hammock, face down, and continues to take her.
Sara rolls her hips up against him in thrusts, and bites down on his shoulder. She opens her eyes, looking down at her pale white arms around his dark skinned body, and she sighs loudly, having a miniature orgasm right here due to just looking at what she’s seeing. She looks down again, seeing her pale white legs coiled around his toned chocolate hips, and her thrusting picks up faster. She wants him inside her sooo bad. She wants to see him enter her and take her.
He slides his hands up her back and perfectly pushes his cock inside her without using his hands. He’s an expert, he knows what he’s doing. Auunnhhh godsszzzz… She stares wide eyed down his abs and her plump breasts to watch the black rod slowly sink between her shaft-hugging lips and watch the smooth chocolate groin press down into her blonde pubes. Her eyes clench shut and she gasps louder, feeling her walls open and spread, sucking and squeezing around him.
“So damn thicckkkk-uhhhhh….” she drools on his shoulder. Sara has never felt every inch of her insides being stroked, pressed, massaged and filled. The wide flared head rolls and presses against her sweet spot, causing her to bite her bottom lip. She arches her back and thrusts up, greedily engulfing and clenching down on every bit of him. He grips her in a hard hug, sliding his hands along every inch of her back, and gently raking his nails down the middle of her back, causing her to goose-pimple and quiver. He gently kisses her ear, with breathy kisses, making her entire body cover in goosebumps. Her legs clench tighter around him and she sucks on his smooth, velvety skin, before sinking her teeth in and tasting the sweet spice and saltiness of his body.
She slides her hands down his toned back, feeling his back muscles clench and lock up, swelling bigger as his ass raises between her legs. Then they flex, driving his ass down between her legs in a steady and smooth rhythm. Not hard, not too fast, but deliberate, steady, and perfectly penetrating and filling every part of her with each thrust. Her face blushes red as blood, her lips swell bigger, and her nails rake down his back.
His thrusts stay heavy, deep and steady. Sara slams her face in his neck and screams a muffled cry into his body as her body thunders and locks and spasms in the hardest orgasm she’s ever had in her life. Her face drips sweat from their bodyheat, and the 3rd orgasm she’s just had. No matter how hard she clenched down, his heavy thickness keeps her gripping and squeezing on him.
She hears the phone vibrate again, knowing it’s her fiance. But as she opens her eyes, the massive pink head enters the deepest part of her and presses down against her uterus.
“Aun GAW...” she yells in a swallowing-scream, falling back into the hammock and spasming as if she’s being electrocuted. Her thighs lock and clench around his waist and she shivers. She opens her mouth wide in a silent scream and tilts her head all the way back, frenzied smacking her hips up against him as her orgasm only rides higher and higher. Every time she slams her hips up, his head kisses her uterus, which only throws her further off the cliff of sensory overload. She literally drools down her chin and cheek, humping like a wild animal. The fact her fiance is calling while shes having the best fuck of her life fills her with a weird feeling. But it’s turning her on more.
“Fhhh….!” the man on top of her starts to breathe faster. She knows he’s on the verge. She locks him tight in a unrelenting hug and plunders his cock by slamming and slapping her hips upward. Her orgasm drops before shooting back up again.
“N..no..” he gasps, trying to pull out. But she won’t let him. No, this is too good. Too much. She wants to feel him spurt inside. Her and her alone is driving him to a massive orgasm, and she intends to be the only reason he explodes...NOT his hand. Her legs lock around his waist and she slams her hips up again, exploding into a 5th orgasm. She’s never had this before, but she wants to scream from pleasure and sensory overload. She bites down on his shoulder and screams herself hoarse into his flesh, as she feels his body lock up and his chest heave deep. She smiles to herself, ready for that big long grunt.
“AUNHH! GGGRRrruuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhh!!!!!” he shoves his face in her shoulder, and groans long, loud and hard. Every time she thrusts upward and locks down, his groan explodes again even higher. He’s hers. She’s playing his pleasure and his body like her own instrument. She’s in control. She slams upwards again, hearing him shudder and spasm. She feels their hot pounding union become sloppy and drip foamy cum all over them both. Her tight insides feel loose, much wetter and full now. Sara screams and shudders hard, cumming again from just knowing that she got every drop out of him.
They collapse together, heaving. She locks her arms and legs around him, not wanting to let him go. She holds her tight to him, sighing and catching his breath. Sara closes her eyes and relaxes.
She feels herself fall into the cool, relaxing embrace of somnambulance.
Sara wakes up in her hammock with a brutal hangover.
“Bloody fuck!” gasps a female voice. It’s Essie.
Sara snorts awake, feeling her shorts are off and laying completely naked in her hammock on top of her shirt. She sees her phone dropped on the ground, and she jerks to try yanking her shirt from beneath her to cover her body.
“It’s just me, luv.” Essie says, jerking the flaps to the big tent shut. “I thought you could handle your wine.”
“Unhhhh…..” Sara sits up in the hammock with her eyes closed, sitting over the edge. Essie hands her a change of clothing, and hands her a bottle of water.
“You were to sip the wine and store the rest in your fridge. Not go bloody ape-shit drunk. Looks like you had a masturbation fight in here.”
Sara remembers last night. She pulls her long blonde hair back into a ponytail and tries to shake off the headache. Her fingers feel sticky and covered in a dried film, and her pussy feels sore and loose. The whole bottom of her shirt is dried with sex fluids.
She guzzles the water down, before pouring some in her hand and rinsing her fingers. She gets to her feet and stumbles to the washbowl, splashing herself and then turning to change clothes.
“I need a shower...”
“Bloody ‘ell, did you shove your whole fucking fist up yer cootch?”
“You’re mouth is so nasty.”
“I’m British, everything I say is proper, yank.”
“Hardy har har.”
“You’re lucky nobody walked in to see you loik that.”
“Uhhh...what time is it?”
“Hey, you been working overtime, so we figured we’d let ya get the sleep. But I came to get you before we pop open the sarcophagus and see Pharaoh Dik himself, heh!”
“Mmm….” Sara scarfs down a protein bar and buttons up her shirt. “...speaking of, I had the weirdest dream last night.” She picks her phone, wiping the sand off. This isn’t the first time she’s dropped it out of her hammock and woke up to find it. Typical.
“I didn’t know you slept at all last night, Pussy Strangler.”
“I was...dreaming about….nevermind.”
“No, it’s stupid.”
“You know I won’t be giving you any piece lest ya spill.”
“Mwomff...*chew*….well, I think….. I don’t remember it all clearly. But I think I dreamed about a Beja guy.”
“Beja? As in Habesha? As in “Fuzzy-Wuzzy’s?”
“Yeah, I think so. Or Somalian. Something weird.”
“Was it...eh, filthy?”
“Hahahaha! Oy! Like hell it t’want.”
“You sound like one of those orcs from that space marine game.”
“And you sound like a cousin-fuckin’ yankee trailer twat. Don’t change me mind none. Anyway, we’re about to pop open the sarcophagus, and it wouldn’t be fair unless you’re there too.”
The two women walk outside in the boiling Egyptian sun and hurry to the entrance to the tomb’s dig site. Inside the tomb, all the inside lights are boiling on. Non-UV, but just fluorescent. Sara and Essie stand inside, a safe distance away but waiting with bated breath. Everyone lifts their camera phones, recording footage and snapping pictures.
“Wait a minute...” Sara mumbles. The bowl with the mushroom, there is no living mushroom in it anymore. It’s only a pile of dry and dead matter. “There was a mushroom there last night.”
“There never was, silly.”
“No, I have a picture right here….” Sara furiously turns her phone on, so to flip through her photos. To find her phone does not power on. As if all the power is drained from it.
“Did you leave it on all night again?”
The sarcophagus’ lid pops open. And the men in gloves and masks very carefully grip it and gently pry the gold lid open and settle it down to the floor with the utmost care. Everyone holds their breath, waiting to see a dried and dead body turned greyish-tan from decay and loss of all body fluids, melanin, and cartilage.
“Uhh...” Essie mumbles in shock.
Everyone stands looking confused at one another, and mumbling. Essie taps Sara to get her to stop looking down and fiddling with her phone.
“Hold on, I can-”
“Where’s the mummy?”
Sara looks up to see the sarcophagus was empty. And at the bottom near the foot of the coffin was a dried pile of snapped and crumpled bandages.
“WHAT?!” she screamed, staring at the inside. As she glared, looking for proof of grave robbers or thieves, she noticed an inscription on the side:
“His soul will walk from living plant to living plant in waiting for the body to be rebuilt by the white light of the sun. But once the rays of the sun strike his soul and sends it back to the body, he once again will walk the land.”
Sara looked down at her depowered phone. Just above the camera flash lens, the words in bright yellow read…