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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2247503-The-Sleeper
by ~MM~
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2247503
Sekmet lies slumbering in her tomb. Written for the No Dialogue Contest.
She lay in the darkness; not quite dead, not quite alive.
The air was parchment dry and the bandages that enwrapped her had rotten away to dust. Time had no meaning here.
From time to time she sensed the outside world; the tiny pinpricks scurrying around were the minds of beetles, imperceivable during life yet now her most frequent companions. There was the darting mind of songbirds on their migratory routes high above. The sly, slithering mind of a serpent nestled in the cliffs.

If she stretched her senses, to the very farthest reach, she could make out larger animals; camels, servals, jackals. But it that was too much effort. It hurt to strain that far and they were gone so fast.
If only a grave robber would make his way here - but the priests had done their work well. They had ensured she was entombed far out into the desert, hidden away in the myriad of caves and crevasses amongst the rocky outcrops.
At first she had tried counting the days, the months, the years. But it became harder and harder to remember and the years rolled into decades, and the decades became centuries.

Had she ever, truly, been alive? How long ago that seemed!
Her flesh rotted and decayed, sticking the bandages to her bones in a tarry mess, until the desiccating air took away even that moisture. Her bones became brittle with age, welded in place by the now dry fabric.

Perhaps she dozed, during those years. Perhaps her soul found a way of drowning out the memory of pain, the hurt, the longing. The hunger. The darkness weighed heavily on her. And the silence.

Something brushed against her consciousness. Minds. Human minds.
There was two of them. Trudging through the crevasse towards her cliff. Climbing the rock face. Entering the cave. Entering the tunnels that led to her tomb.

She willed them closer. Tried researching out to them. One was bright, like a flickering torch flame; his mind alert and cunning. The other felt closed, cold and tasting faintly of iron; she pushed against him and felt resolve as a wall around him.
Treasure hunters. Hunger welled up inside her. A longing, a lust for freedom. If only she could draw them nearer.
She sent out a tendril of power, praying a barb would hook into the bright one's soul. She could hear them now, but their speech was a drawling tongue, slow and deep, and she did not recognise it.

She focused on them. How it hurt to use her power after so long! She tugged at the bright one - he was so close she could almost taste the richness of his soul. She buried into his unconscious and found a handhold. He was hers! Gleefully she reeled him in, and she could feel them arguing over a map as she guided him towards her.
The cold, iron-tasting one was growing ever more wary. Gently! She must not haul the bright one too fast for fear of loosing the both. She loosened her hold and let him jabber away to his companion, convince him that this was the correct way through the catacombs to were the ancient queen lay.
Queen, ah, it was a long time since she had been called that. She felt pleased with him, the bright one. Perhaps, when they finally reached her, she would kill him first. As a token of her appreciation.

Word Count:
Prompt: Anticipation
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