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⋙ My username is Dragon Documentary,
though I am fine with Dragon or
Dragon Doc, or any other
shorter version ^v^. Thank you for considering
this form. Please know that the character
below is severely sarcastic and condescending,
so proceed with caution.⋘
Tour guide. Yes, I know. Great opener, right?
Well anyways, that's what I am and I just thought
you should know, because usually it's a bit offputting.
You know, the whole "I give tours of dead Egyptian
dude's final resting places that they would prefer
to be kept undisturbed" thing explains why I have no friends.
Well, let me rephrase that. I have friends...or a friend....
More like one of those on-again off-again types
who only enjoys my company because I feed him.
No, I have not made friends with a stray cat.
Actually, he's a camel. A dromedary camel, to be exact.
He's old and smells like rotting sand, and I'm pretty sure
that he's lost all hearing in his left ear, but occasionally
he lets me hug him. And let me tell you, hugging a camel is
one of life's little known pleasures. They're surprisingly soft,
if you get past the look-at-me-the-wrong-way-and-I'll-spit
deal. Yes, he does spit. Giant globs of pure hatred, that literally
do not come off of clothes. I've exhausted every detergent
out there, even the ones advertised with the yelling man
scaring you into buying his product.
I see that I'm rambling. I do that sometimes, you know. Ramble, that is.
My mother always said that it was because she dropped a dictionary
on my head when I was little. Yes, a dictionary. A Webster's dictionary,
all 900 plus pages. I'm pretty sure it caused a little more damage
than just some new vocabulary, as you can probably tell. I'm doing
it again, aren't I...the rambling? Okay, I'll shut up
and breathe for a second. No wait! Don't go yet. I'm sorry if I smell
like old dead pharaohs and sweaty mammal. You probably wouldn't
smell that great either if you were stuck in the desert for ten hours
with three million whining children complaining about how their feet hurt.
Guess what buddies? You think your feet hurt?
Trying wearing these sandal things the company makes us wear.
Yeah, that's right, solid wood. Then come talk to me, huh, you little punk.
You think you're all cool with your little iPad snapping pictures of the pyramids.
Well guess what? You don't deserve that iPad. You're five years old on
an around-the-world trip in Cairo and all you can worry about is getting
Wifi so you can check in on your Kim Kardashian game. Trust me, that
thing is a waste of time. No, hush. Your 30 million virtual followers will
never be there to give you virtual consolation when your real problems
come crashing in. Sorry kids, I do not enjoy your whining.
Oh, sorry. I did it again, the rambling. If you haven't noticed, I also repeat myself. I repeat myself
a lot. These summer days are really starting to get to me. So if I repeat myself, now you know why.
I promise it gets better.
Ｌｅｔ'ｓ ｓｔａｒｔ.
Hi, my name is Anubis.
["Hi, Anubis" sounds in the background
in a bored droning tone]
Anubis.
Of all things to name your daughter.
Yes, your daughter. Wikipedia describes the name as
"god of dead, embalming, funerals, and mourning ceremonies
Jackal god"
And then goes on to say "Son of Seth, Helps Osiris."
Did you hear that? Son of Seth.
I guess my parents were just hoping I was a boy. Sorry to disappoint!
Gee, great name. Real fantastic.
If you think you've got it bad, at least your namesake wasn't the
god of dead people. It's like naming your kid Casket or
Six Feet Down. No cool mom, not cool.
I demand a protest.
Well, since that's obviously not going to happen, I guess I'm
stuck with it. Anubis...Ahh-neew-biss......the world hates me.
At least it wasn't something like Angus or Frankerton III. I guess
I can live with Anubis. At least it's a good conversation starter.
Ｄａｙ ｊｏｂ As you’ve previously read, I lead tours of Egypt. Well, not just any tours of Egypt. These tours are genuine education, folks. This is the real thing! I have studied Egyptology for as long as I can remember—and I’m a certified archaeologist. Also, in case you’re interested, I have a master’s degree in crime investigation, and I like to think that I have some sort of degree in Master Theft, but more on that later.
I live, sleep and breath Egypt. I was born there, you know, next to the Nile. Well, actually on the Nile, but that’s…uh a long story. To understand the next few things I will tell you, you need to know about what’s important to me. And before we go any further, I have a great home life. So any of my actions from here on out are not influenced by some tragic background. I mean, I had a pet turtle that died when I was little, and that was pretty traumatic, but…anyways.
Let me start off with my respect for ancient artifacts. Even though I lead tours, I still visit the museums throughout Egypt (you’d be surprised how long it will actually take me to get tired of this stuff). My fascination started when I was little, when my dad took me to a King Tut exhibit near our home. This was a looser time, so many of the artifacts were laid out disgracefully, without any protection. I even saw some dude slip a necklace into his khaki’s (and he almost got away, but then this unnecessarily large security guard got his big break). I was only four or five at the time, but I could feel the distress of the objects… they were almost…crying out for help. Now, before you think I have some brain tumor or something, no, I did not actually hear them talking. But you have to understand that from that point on, I stopped looking at artifacts as lifeless things, to be sold and traded at will. They have a back story, a rich history. They contain the secrets of pharaohs, and hold the keys to unlocking decades of lost history. They were once handled by the kings of old, once adored by a simpler civilization.
Artifacts hold power and they give us information about a world unimaginable today. After I saw those priceless belongings on display to people without an understanding of their true value, to people only interested in snapping a photo—that is when I began forming a lifelong plan of action.
Unfortunately, I never realized the dream. I died and now I’m a ghost, narrating my sad life.
Juuuust seeing if you were paying attention…nope I’m still here, though you might be wishing I weren’t…
Anyways, back to my day job. Short version: I lead little whiny children and their large whiny parents on glorious displays of the Egyptian landscape (by camel), and then proceed to lead said whiny children and parents back through the glorious Egyptian landscape to the company “base,” which is a large building where I have to explain all of what we “learned that day” and answer all of their questions. Long version: I give each group of people a camel assignment—my favorite time of the day…I just love watching the children fighting over who gets which camel, although they have already been told which is which. After everyone realizes this, we mount up and head off to the pyramids. The base is about two miles from Gaza, so the trek there is especially delightful. Once we arrive, the camels get some water (contrary to popular belief, camels actually do not hold water in their humps, and being the nice company we are, we like to give them reprieves from the nuisances of small children), and I lead the group of twenty-some tourists through the larger pyramid. Only a few artifacts reside in the actual pyramid, and the rest are on display throughout various museums. I wince daily as we pass the pharaoh’s tomb, and try to ignore the kids who think it’s hilarious to bounce rocks off of the glass.
We remount our valiant beasts, and head back to the base after exploring the Sphinx. Being the glorious teacher I am, I vaguely attempt to explain in my best monotonous voice the gist of the tour back at the base:
“Thank you ladies and gentleman for choosing Camel & Co. Inc. for your magical journey through Egypt. We hope you enjoyed today. Now, before you all leave, I would like to [I wince at a spit ball from the audience], ahem, would like to summarize our trip. In the words of no one famous ‘Egypt is a land of wonders and excitement.’ I couldn’t [pause for a long yawn] agree more. The artifacts you saw today are some of what remains of a truly glorious time in the history of this world. Now, [looks down at script] I’m supposed to ask you for questions, but the illiterate lot before me doesn’t show any signs of brain cell connection or sparks of thought. So, [dramatically close script] with that, I’ll conclude the tour. Complaints can be dropped off on my desk. We hope you return to experience more ‘magic’ [press button and curtain drops in front of me].
Ahh, such a wonderful job. Fortunately, I haven’t been fired yet. But, seeing as how I’m the only employee other than Stan, the company keeps me around. I guess my salary is moderate for the stuff I go through. It pays the bills, I guess.
It’s dark. Very dark. Actually, so dark that I wish I had brought a flashlight. Then I remember that this is a highly sensitive mission and a freaking flashlight would probably compromise the situation. Anyways, it’s really dark. So I clumsily grope around, trying to find the wall.
I hold in a squeal of pain. My toe agrees that that was definitely not the wall.
..or that.
….that neither.
My mounting pain and frustration boil over and I fling my backpack across the room, listening in a mixture of fear and peacefulness as it crashes against an object in the gloom. My mind clicks back to the mission. Well, it would click back to the mission, if it weren’t thinking about the consequences of my actions. Drat. This is where it gets ugly. I hear footsteps jogging down the hall, an angry voice. Assessing the situation, I deem the owner of the voice a male, in his late fifties. From the sound of his breath, it’s safe to assume that he is fairly overweight, so I might have a few seconds before he descends upon me. Now my brain clicks into place, and my senses switch to high alert. A looming figure of ink stands directly in front of me. I instinctively know this is a show case of some sort—probably glass. Maybe about ten feet tall. I can make it if I want to.
Silently, I slide back a few steps, preparing myself for the leap. The footsteps approach, the dread inside of me increases. My heart thumps wildly, urging me to quicken my pace. I need more time to prepare for this, I’m not ready! Shaking the feelings of doubt clinging to my soul, I brace back and then fling myself forward, taking off on all fours. I supercharge my spring-like limbs, and remember that this is how heroes are made. Halfway through my leap to safety, a flashlight shines on my valiant figure. The world freezes; time stops.
I hold my breath. And then I remember that I am not a cartoon character and I have to unfreeze at some point. With a sigh of dismay I allow my body to careen forward, headfirst into the cool arms of the glass case I should be sitting on by now. The barrier gives, and tingles of pain shoot through my body as millions of shards slowly descend upon me.
My first thought is the type of thing they usually discard from the comic books.
Crap, that hurt.
But the next few race through my mind, filling it with fear and discouragement. I feel a hot light on me, and turn with a battered face to stare at the eyes of the one who vanquished me.
“Give it up, Stan. You won, okay?”
I squint my eyes as I hear the sound of an industrial spotlight switch flipped. My body instantly illuminates, as well as my surroundings. The light reveals a green screened room with several walls and glass cases scattered throughout. The case I just demolished is still imbedding its little minions inside of my skin, but everything else was fake. Stan, a standard looking man with a standard looking face, drops his gaze and sullenly clicks off the flashlight.
“But we were so close!”
I give him the please-remember-that-we-are-shooting-a-video-to-advertise-our-company-and-not-fighting-off-zombies look. He sighs and walks to check the footage. Meanwhile, I inwardly bash myself. This is supposed to be practice for the real thing, although Stan doesn’t know that he’s assisting with a felony. Some practice. If I can’t even jump ten feet onto a display, how can I ever hope to take the ten foot leap over the wall surrounding the museum’s back entrance?
The footage is no good. Apparently my “running commentary,” and “lack of enthusiasm” will “ruin company morale.” I hold my tongue. Four people and thirty camels isn’t really a company, but I’m getting a raise for this, so I pick myself up and prepare for another take.
A few hours later, after a total of nineteen takes, twelve cups of coffee, five arguments with Stan, two threats to quit, and a partridge in a pear tree, I gather my things and prepare for the big bust.
Tonight’s target is a cat statue inside of a local museum. I figure if it isn’t theirs to keep, then it isn’t such a bad thing for me to…relieve them of it. Yeah, yeah, you can say that is what I “tell myself so I can sleep at night.” And you would be completely correct. I absolutely know that stealing is wrong—in fact, that was my one rule as a child. I always remembered, no matter what, that stealing was wrong.
But that doesn’t change anything. For this to succeed, I have to throw aside all thoughts of moral or rational thinking.
I have to steal and artifact, tonight. I’ve done it dozens of times, so tonight will be no different. I’ll go in empty-handed, and leave with a priceless object. Tonight it will happen. It has to.
Ｅｐｉｌｏｇｕｅ
by lil rae
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