Until the sands are gone

Chapter 1

          Until placed in a desert, water seems ordinary. Abundant. One living in a rainforest may see it as a constant, never changing, always there. But in Egypt, water was what gave life. The Nile teemed with life from the alligators to the birds to the great peoples who inhabited the land, including my people of Lower Egypt. Water was only second to the sun, which i secretly cursed despite my mother's pestering that Ra, the god of the sun, deserved more of my attention than my senet games with my closest friend Tamun.

           My mother, Senebsima, insisted on me becoming "a proper young lady" which meant training in cooking and housekeeping. In our culture, reading and writing were for scribes. All men of course; my father Amuhnk included. I have always thought writing was beautiful. That so many small pictures could hold such deep meaning. Each reed stroke on papyrus was unique, but they all contributed to one thought, one idea. Papa often brought work home to do for the next sun. Sometimes at dusk, I would watch my father write with his ink-dipped reed, my young eyes filled with wonder.  One night when I was very small, I crawled onto Papa's lap.

           "It's too bad you can't be a sesh (A. Egyptian word for scribe)," Papa said smiling congenially. He sat me upon his knee. "Here, I will show you one part of the alphabet and you can try it,".

          I was so excited. Me, a little girl, write? "Thank you It (Egyptian word for father pronounced eeyt)," I said, trying to contain my excitement. Papa dipped his reed in ink, making a tiny splashing noise, and then he returned to the papyrus. I studied his hands, deeply tanned from the hot sun and wrinkled from age. He rested the reed between his calloused fingers and began dragging it across the papyrus. The strokes, though seemingly abstract at first, began to form a sort of bird shape.

          "A vulture It ?" I asked curiously. It would be hard to replicate on my own.

           "Tiw, (yes) Amunhere. Now I will help you draw it." Papa took my hand and placed it on top of his. He lead my hand to the ink, where i carefully dipped the reed and watched it drip until no liquid was running off. Then I placed the reed on the papyrus, where Papa assisted me in replicating the smoothly drawn vulture to the left. I was two strokes away from being done."Good, good Amunhere," he whispered into my ear. His breath tickled my ear and I laughed suddenly, making a stray mark were the beak should have been.

          "S-sorry It," I said, looking up to him with wide eyes. His smile curled into a slight frown and i began to become worried. Have I shamed him? Suddenly, he grabbed me up in his arms and started tickling me.

           "No, no It," I yelled hoarsely between giggles, trying to free myself from his grab. One of my flailing arms hit the ink bottle. Papa, growing serious once more, dipped his finger into the ink.

          "Amunhere you've been very bad and the gods are not pleased," he said. Then, his usual smile brightening up his face, he smeared ink across my forehead. I ran across the study to the other side of the wall, laughing so hard that I almost fell over. Papa also ran my direction, but my attempts to evade him failed when he scooped me up. "I'm a very hungry alligator and you look quite tasty!" he exclaimed.

           "No! I don't wanna be eaten!" I yelled. Wriggling free, Papa finally placed me on the ground. We both lied there and I put my head on his shoulder. It was warm and strong, just like Papa.

          "Ana bahbak It," (I love you father) I exclaimed panting.

          "My dearest Amunhere, I love you more than all of the sands on this earth," Papa replied, smiling at me with his deep brown eyes.

          There was never another moment where I felt that free. Papa taught me the whole alphabet eventually, in secret of course. Not even my mother knew, let alone my elder sisters. It got to the point where I could write whole sentences by myself at the age of 11. I would even help Papa with some of his work. Many late nights were spent under the stars, a scarlet fire crackling, and me and Papa reading stories of the gods and of people from long ago. Never had I ever loved anyone as much as Papa. But I soon learned that love cannot withstand all.

           Papa died when I was thirteen. Yellow fever they said. The healers tried to treat him. I visited him every day and I would read him something I wrote. I knew he probably wasn't listening, that he was probably asleep. But writing had always healed him and foolishly I thought maybe it would heal him again. I was wrong. Papa had not been awake for days before he died. The healers said he did not seem like he was in any great pain, but that might have been partly because they felt bad for my grieving family.

          So the day came for the funeral procession. Mother bought black linen dresses for me and my two sisters. We lined our eyes with kohl, like royalty. Except royalty does not have to bury their own in a random plot in a temple. No, no magnificent pyramid was made for any common person.

          After Papa was mummified and placed in a simple wooden sarcophagus, priests and temple leaders arrived to place spells on him so that he may safely travel to the underworld. My mother stood rigidly in the front of the procession that had gathered in the temple. She was followed by Arkhet, my eldest sister. Then came the second oldest, Namenk, followed by me. A few friends had also come to see Papa one last time.

          We were instructed once more about the deceased's trip to the Underworld. How they would have to make it through several challenges before they would arrive at the final judgement. There, their heart would be weighed on a scale against the feather of truth, which would determine whether they would make it to the Afterlife or not. Not one for praying, I closed my eyes and tried to speak to those in the heavens, asking them to grant my father Afterlife, for I knew his heart was true. Tears started blurring my vision as I tried not to weep too loudly, for fear I be scolded by my mother.

Papa was never an extremely religious man, but he believed that love was salvation. And as they sealed his tomb, I tried to grip any love I had left in my heart, but it was broken. Papa was the Nile I had grown so used to, and without him, the desert would burst into flames.

Hey guys! This book is going to be a new project for this summer. I'm hoping to develop some good original ideas instead of just fanfictions. P.S. The Slytherin Troublemaker will probably eventually sometime get updated. I just have been away from it for a while. So I will try something new. Anyhow, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter. I love you all !!

-Liv