Tag: Fiction

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

Doors: Part 1 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales.

Not sure which one she took—there are too many doors on this wall. Ever since the day we found this little nook in this village a couple of years back, Nui had been burning with curiosity. We come here often to collect the occasional teeth from under the pillow and look at these doors, but not as often as Nui would like to. With people having fewer children, there are fewer teeth to collect.

Okay, just in case you are confused, we are tooth faeries. She is a four‑and‑a‑quarter‑inch Fighter and I am a five‑inch Spellman. We are a team and we collect teeth together. Why?

Because, to pry out broken teeth from under the pillow, I have to cast the spells to prop up the child, move the pillow, place the coin and grab the tooth and then place the pillow and child back in place. (Not sure why they don’t just keep the tooth on the side‑table. It would be so convenient for us.) So, while I am using all my concentration for the spells, Nui stands guard to look out for any pet animals and keep them at bay.

Cats are especially nasty—stealthy, vicious and quick. Once, when my partner was out sick (a serious case of bird flu—her wings kept twitching like hummingbird’s and her voice sounded like a crow’s), a cat sneaked up on me. I found myself inside the cat’s stomach and it’s not a pretty sight. I had to tickle its intestine so that it would spit me out. Later, I had to shower for almost an hour to take off the muck from my hair. So, you get the drift…

So, all tooth fairies work in pairs to avoid such situations.

Between her and me, we have fifty‑seven villages to cover. You would think that we would be dying of overwork. But children are getting so rare now that there aren’t enough teeth to go around. In fact, most of the tooth fairies are forced to take up smithery or animal‑guard roles for smaller beings, like rats (desperate times!). Most of the teeth forges are now going out of commission too.

For any novices out there, teeth forges are where new human teeth are forged on order. Every end of the day, we submit the acquired teeth at the teeth forge. The teeth smith takes the measurements and DNA print and then forges new teeth to replace the old ones. The old teeth are recycled, of course. A delivery elf, then, submits the new teeth to the Great Guy on the seventh cloud to be dispersed as needed. All that is beyond our job role, of course.

Anyway, Nui and I are best friends, even though it is rather difficult. She has an adventurous spirit and a knack for getting into dangerous situations—like the day she decided to adopt a lost pup. He’s a Great Dane who loves catching anything that flies too close. It took us a couple of weeks and several trips to its stomach before it learnt not to catch faeries.

Her boyfriend—another Fighter fairy—doesn’t approve of the Dane. On second thought, he doesn’t approve of me either. He thinks I’m hitting on her. Initially, I told him, “Mate, I gave up on the day we became partners 93 years back.”

I had made a move on her on the first day at work and she gave me a black eye. Ever since then, I’ve stuck to being friends. But I keep that piece of information to myself. No need to humiliate myself when he doesn’t believe me anyway.

Well, his loss! Every now and then, he tells her to dump me, and she gives him the black eye instead.

Nui is the reason for being a tooth fairy worth it—it gives us an excuse to stick together all day. I think the Great Guy on the seventh cloud knows about it too and, hence, he hasn’t changed our pairing in all these 93 years—a rarity in our field.

That’s why, I let her drag me to look at these doors every time we’re in the village. They are inside an old building that belonged to a bunch of humans named ‘Karpenters’ once upon a time. They used to build things out of wood here. But a couple of decades ago, when a fire crashed a couple of walls and the roof, they deserted the place. Now, they say the place is haunted and no one visits it anymore, which suits us just fine. Every time we have an assignment in this village, we sit here for hours and look at these magical wooden doors.

How are we so sure they are magical?

Well, why would anyone place so many doors on the same wall, unless they all lead to different places? Deductive reasoning, you see.

Also, they are all different colours and sizes—some of them too small for grown up humans—and all of them are well‑worn. Some of them have claw marks all over them (Werewolves?) while one looks severely burnt (Dragons?). Nui loves to contemplate about where each door would lead us. Many times, she has asked me to come with her so that we could enter them together. I’m curious too but not crazy enough to try. With magic, you could never be sure where they would take us.

Author’s note: To be continued…

If you would rather read it all together in the book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales is available for free download here: Link

Photo by Ranurte on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published, Twisted fairytales

Captivated

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a Twisted Fairytale from my fifth short story compilation, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a twisted version of the original Grimm’s fairytale, Rapunzel.

For somebody who had spent her entire life on the top of a tower, this entire fiasco is nothing short of earth‑shattering. I only had a few dreams…a little grass beneath my feet and the freedom to walk away. Mother had never allowed me to set a foot outside this sad place. There was no one but occasional birds for company. She said she was afraid I would leave her. She was probably right.

I would often sit at the single open window, singing to myself. One day, when this man came calling and said, “Lady! You have an angel’s voice,” I wondered who this ‘Angel’ is. So, I asked him to come in…the usual way, of course—grab the hair; I pull up! He seemed impressed. He said he never saw a woman with such long hair and unbelievable upper‑arm strength.

Then, of course, I was curious what a ‘Woman’ is? At first, he was amused by my questions. And then, he told me about women and men…and babies that look like angels. And then, of course he told me what a ‘Baby’ is. Being stuck inside the tower forever, my knowledge of outside world is quite inadequate.

He was patient with me. He showed me how babies were made—seems like lots of jostling and biting is involved, but the nice kind that makes you look forward to making babies all the time.

He kept getting tangled up with my hair, which was kind of funny to see. He asked whether I would mind if he cut them short. I told him Mother might not appreciate having to wait outside until I grow them back. He was curious about her—what she did, where she went during the day and why she lived in a tower without stairs. He went snooping around the floor. I’m sure, he would have loved to check the lower floors too but there was no door.

He was rather suspicious of our broom that stood solemnly in a corner. He asked me what it was for. Seriously! Didn’t he know what brooms did? They flew, of course. How else did Mother manage to bring me up here in the first place before my hair grew long? And of course, they cleaned the floor if you asked nicely and swatted the occasional rats and spiders that infested the place. This one, however, was a piece of scrap now—too old and out of juice.

The way he looked at the cauldron, I wondered if he is expecting something to jump out at him. I told him it wasn’t happening. Mother quit all such endeavours ever since the last undead experiment—nothing freaks you out more than a half‑built, recently‑dead man running out of the cauldron, deluded that you are his still‑alive wife. The moaning, groping of hands, chasing around to declare undying love, the smell of hot flesh still fresh from the fire…He didn’t quit howling and asking for forgiveness until he timed out at dawn. Mother decided against ‘building’ anyone out of the cauldron after that.

Somehow, that lead him to believe that I was a ‘captive’ of a ‘witch’. I told him she was my Mother but, still, he insisted on leaving before she arrived. He also made me promise not to rat him out. In turn, I made him promise to return the next day and teach me more about other good stuff. So, he came.

For many days, we tried but I didn’t see any baby arrive. Realizing that he was getting the process wrong somehow, I suggested that we try throwing some herbs in the cauldron like Mother did the other day to create a baby. But he insisted to continue trying his way.

So, we kept up to it until the day Mother came home quite earlier than usual.

She soared in right through the open window on a cool broom with a pretty pink handle, a fitted double‑seater pink seat and pink dyed twigs at the other end. She was super‑excited when she called me to get on the backseat, so I could fly with her outside everyday.

Then, she saw him…and me…together…

Something snapped inside her. She started hollering about not trusting kids ever again; nowhere being safe enough to raise a pretty daughter; and of men who deceived innocent girls into giving up their chastity (whatever that means). And then, she started shouting swear words. Most didn’t any make sense, but when she called the prince a ‘son of a bitch’, he turned into one (at least that is what Mother says).

When Mother cooled down enough, I asked if I should turn him back into a human. But, apparently, swear‑magic cannot be undone. So, I just kept him as a pet. He is cuddly and sweet. Sometimes he sulks around the tower looking for exits but he is mostly quiet and only barks to intimidate the occasional princes that happen to visit.

Honestly, he is a much better company this way.

END

Author’s note: If you would rather read it all together in the book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales is available for free download here: Link

Photo by Karsten Würth on Unsplash

Posted in Random Thoughts, Published

Fifth Book | Ugly: Twisted Fairytales

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Hi Everyone,

I have published my fifth book, Ugly: Twisted fairytales. It is a compilation of fairytales with imperfect toads, witchy mothers, fighter fairies and mounted bull’s head that still chew the cud.

Some of them are Grimms’ offshoot. Others are original.

Genre: Fiction, Fantasy, Fairytales

I will post the individual stories right here on my blog. But if you are interested in the book itself, the PDF is available for free download here: Free Books by Shaily

Go ahead and enjoy!

Posted in My life, Published, Random Thoughts

Rating 7D: Tales from the Future

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Okay! I know I sound desperate right now, but I am beginning to wonder if the Rating feature in WordPress works at all. I added this feature alongside my book links many days back, but I see no ratings so far. It could be because nobody read my books or rated them, but still, I would like to confirm.

So, if you have read my book 7D: Tales from the Future or read the following stories on my blog, please try rating the book and adding comments in this link: Free Books by Shaily.

Any comment or rating are welcome, even negative ones. I am still learning how to write stories. So, if you didn’t like anything about the stories or writing style, let me know so that I can learn to write better.

Thanks for sticking along all the way!

Posted in Fiction, Published, Science Fiction

7D: Part 1 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a Science Fiction story from my fourth book, 7D: Tales from the Future. You can find the second installment here: 7D: Part 2

The sun is warm on my skin, and the air smells of pine and heather. Yume’s green eyes gaze into mine mesmerizing me as he guides me by the elbow and urges me to touch the blue bird sitting next to the gurgling spring. Her glowing blue feathers call to me. There is a song in the wind without words—music of the bubbling spring, singing birds and chirping grasshoppers. The dream‑like scene holds me still.

Yume is still touching my elbow; still looking at me with those green eyes. I shiver as butterflies take flight in my belly. Half‑afraid that the blue bird would fly away shattering the magic of the moment, I touch its buttery-soft wings. It quivers but stays where it is. Its two yellow friends sit close by, unaffected by my intrusion. One of them is drinking water from the spring; the other one is singing in a voice that would remain with me forever.

With his perfect pointed nose, Yume resembles the birds: calm and serene. For a moment, I wonder if his team has used him as the model for these birds. The green expressive eyes are certainly his. I am better off not knowing though if I want to keep re‑living this otherworldly experience. I know it is just an illusion—a seven‑dimensional (7D) piece of visual art that allows me to see in three dimensions as well as hear, smell, taste and touch—but still…

It is a product of responsive technology powered by Artificial Intelligence, which means that when I interact with any element, it responds intelligently. My act of breathing is met with the smell of pine forest; the blue bird quivers upon my touch; and the water splashes against my hand, tongue and throat—wet without actual water—as I drink from the spring.

The best part is that there is no need for special glasses or equipment to run it—just a touch‑powered, self‑fitting, ring with a button that Seiko is wearing on his finger. Once you wear it and switch the button on, it activates and adds certain elements to your surroundings, creating the illusion. This piece is an immersive one that has turned my entire room into my personal heaven. Yume smiles at me knowingly. I will owe him forever for this moment.

Seiko touches one of the two rings on his finger. The scene pixilates and melts in the air, and my office comes into view, and I sigh as I return to reality. Seiko is amused, “Engages all senses, doesn’t it?”

I nod wordlessly. Before I had experienced it, I was a little unsure of the profitability of the technology—it will be extremely expensive in the initial years due to the research and development cost, close to a vacation on a space station. So, I had wondered if people would be interested in buying it when they can have the same experience by traveling.

But now, I am converted. I would never have been able to touch a live bird in a natural setting.

And then, there is Yume still touching my elbow, which makes it difficult to think clearly. He has a way of making my legs jelly. Honestly, I would never approve of such a crazy fascination. I have never been so taken by any other man. Once a talk‑show host had asked me what it would take to tame the tigress and I had told her the vision of my perfect man: the perfect gentleman, strong with ideas, gentle in conduct, intelligent, capable of witty conversations, and not overbearing or jealous. I had also told her that I was sure he did not exist.

But then, Seiko and Yume had approached me at a Visual Arts conference last month. With his quick wit, amazing knowledge and impeccable manners, I was instantly drawn to Yume. Add to that the way he looks at me—like I am the only woman in the world—appreciates me for all the right things and the way his hand lingers in mine a second longer than necessary for a handshake, he had me purring like a kitten ever since.

But we are never alone. Seiko is always there. Both of them are always talking about this breakthrough in 7D technology—how their company has been looking for an investor to commercialise it. As the heiress of my father’s investment empire, I have invested all my life in visual technologies. I know that this one will be an instant success.

Right now, they are both looking at me expectantly for an answer. They know they have won already. Seiko queries, “So, will you invest in our organisation to commercialise the 7D technology?”

“I’m afraid not,” I say, much to my regret.

Author’s note: To be continued…

If you would rather read it all together in the book, 7D: Tales from the Future is available for free download here: Link

Photo credits: Google Gemini

Posted in Fiction, Published, Science Fiction

The Flight

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a Science Fiction story from my fourth book, 7D: Tales from the Future.

We can’t afford to miss this flight—literally. I urge the taxi driver to go faster but he is helpless too. Half the air route is filled with taxis. The other half is filled with protestors with huge placards on their vehicles levitating in the air with demands to prepare more spaceships so everyone can reach to safety. I check my four‑year‑old daughter if she has picked up the panic around her. But she is licking a lollypop contently as she hugs her favourite doll.

I would have been out there as one of the protestors too if I hadn’t got the ticket. I had to sell everything I had but, somehow, I was able to scrounge just enough. Of course, that was only possible because I had a head start. One of my close friends received inside information from his government connections before the impending apocalypse became public knowledge.

*****

While thousands of meteorites enter Earth’s atmosphere every year, Oxygen burns most of them down to ashes. However, this one hurtling through the space towards Earth is the size of Russia. The one that made the entire dinosaur species extinct was nothing in comparison.

The seas are already rising slowly, thanks to the new gravitational pull, beginning to drown the sea‑side cities. And once the meteorite enters the Earth’s atmosphere, it will catch fire, raising heat to unbearable levels, burning oxygen and filling atmosphere with poisonous gases. And then, it will make impact, turning Earth to pieces. Is there are any survivors from the impact, they will find that these pieces will not have enough gravitational pull to contain air. But before asphyxiation kills them, lack of air pressure will burst all the inhabitants apart like balloons.

Of course, the event will have a larger impact on the galaxy—not that any of us would be alive to study it.

A lump constricts my throat as I pull my daughter closer at the thought, glad that she is too young to understand the horrors she is leaving behind.

The governments of all countries on Earth had known about it for years, of course. But they had been hiding the information from public to avoid widespread panic. They had been lying through the   teeth that they had weapons to break the meteorite down before it enters Earth’s orbit. It was only last year when a famous e‑news channel sniffed out the truth—even with the strength of all the space weapons we own, it is impossible to break down a meteorite of this size in space. And even if we somehow manage to do it outside Earth’s atmosphere, the residual motion, abetted by Earth’s gravity, will pull most of the pieces inside Earth’s atmosphere anyway. Too many of these pieces will be too huge. The result will still be almost the same.

Hence, the governments have been putting all their resources in quietly building spaceships to travel to Azumi‑306—the closest habitable planet in a different galaxy. They have been sending scout flights with scientists who have discovered ways to exist in the otherwise unknown territory—what food to eat, what creatures to avoid and how to see in the 280‑hours‑long moonless nights. Apparently, they are currently experimenting on growing “Earth‑food” on Azumi but haven’t really reached there yet.

*****

When the news came out last year, people went berserk. Some people with means got the tickets and were leaving Earth to start afresh. There is no guarantee as to how it will all pan out though. The two-and-half‑year flight and the life after were full of uncertainties.

I pull my daughter in my arms. I wish I could shield her from all this.

The people outside are protesting for more spaceships, which is useless. If governments could, they would have done that already. But there would never be enough spaceships for the billions of people inhabiting the Earth. So, it will be Titanic all over again—the rich go first, leaving the poor behind to die. But that was a thought for later. For now, I just had to get us through this day somehow.

*****

We reach the space centre at last. We are just in time, so I must be quick.

I tickle my four‑year‑old and am rewarded with a toothy chuckle. I hug her tight and, with trembling lips, I speak the magic words, “Remember, I love you.” And then, I hand her over to the flight attendant, “This is her first time alone.”

She tries to smile reassuringly, like she has been trying to contain tears all day, “We have a special facility for children without chaperon. She will have a fair chance at life.” I try to smile back, wish her luck for the flight and beyond, and watch as she closes the gates. Somewhere behind those gates, a spaceship is preparing to fly to a new world. A precious part of me goes away with it. With a deep shudder, I finally let the tears fall.

END

If you would rather read all the stories together in the book, 7D: Tales from the Future is available for free download here: Link

Photo by SpaceX on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Lingering

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

What is that a shape in the mirror behind the candle? Gah, just candle smoke! I should just snuff the stupid thing so I can get some sleep, but I can’t make myself. The candle is almost at its end anyway.

The ancient bed creaks every time I turn, and I curse the moment I accepted this inheritance–old, long-lost and in the middle of nowhere. Sure, it is pretty during the day with all its carved wooden panels, but at night, it is plain scary. My boring job in the city is better than the night-long agitation; jumping in the dark at every sound this old house makes.

Pipes groan every now and then. Windows I probably missed closing somewhere in the house rattle loudly. Is it windy outside? I can’t it feel it here in my room with the windows closed and curtains on. Floorboards pitter-patter with tiny feet–I need mouse traps by the dozen, it seems.

That smoke in the mirror–is that a face? Is it sneering at me?

My insides quiver with a chill unrelated to the weather. I need sleep. No, I need to get out of this ghost house. I will drive back home tomorrow morning and sell off this place. Who wants to live inside a horror show? No electricity, no company. At this rate, I will go insane in a couple of days.

That sneer in the mirror…that candle smoke…are those canine teeth really growing?

Oh! The candle’s burnt out! I should have lighted a new one while there was still light. Now, where is that torch?

Damn! Where is that bloody cellphone?

Fine, I will just open the curtains.

I stumble in the darkness to the nearest window and pull the curtains open, avoiding looking outside in the wilderness. Silver moonlight filters in to show the smoke gone from the candle.

The sneer with canines still lingers…

Photo by Jasmin Ne on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published

The Bracelet: Part 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of the title story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. I would recommend reading Part 1 once again to gather the momentum of memories that led you to this point. You can find it here: The Bracelet: Part 1.

He is here. But why has he brought so many others along? Has his family arrived for our marriage as he had promised? But their faces are not friendly. In fact, they are downright angry. Why are they carrying pitch forks?

My familiars rush to meet him at the door, but he scowls and pushes them back inside. He motions at me to come out with him. I comply.

As I step out, someone grabs my hands from behind and I cry in pain. My love…he speaks something that I can’t understand. It is English, but so different from the way he usually talks. He asks me about the father of our unborn child. Flustered at the implication, my voice shaking, I shout, “It’s you!”

“And that,” he says, “is my confession.”

I can’t understand where this is going. He had come to me two weeks back, and I told him about the baby. He was surprised, but he had never questioned the father of the baby. That day, I had reminded him of his promise to marry me as soon as his family comes, and he had agreed.

Now, he holds a book and quotes questions from it. He asks about witchcraft…I tell him he already knows I’m a healer. I had treated him when he was dying of fever. I say I love him. But he shouts me down and asks me to answer only in ‘Yes’ and ‘No’.

The questions blame me of witchcraft and of forcing him to impregnate me. No matter whether my answer is a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’, they incriminate me of being a witch either way. So, I try to remain silent, but it earns me his knee in the stomach, every time…

I writhe in pain, while my mind is on the baby. At this rate, he’ll kill our child! I beg him to have mercy on the unborn. For a second, I see guilt in his eyes. Then, he pushes me inside the cottage and closes the door.

Hope surges through me. Have I been spared?

I hear a lock click outside. Smoke fills my nostrils—they have set my cottage on fire! Out of the window, I see them waiting with pitchforks with bloodlust in their eyes. If I get out somehow, they will simply slice me in pieces and throw back in here. There is no hope for me.

My familiars are scared and freaking out—clawing down the door and the now‑closed windows, all on fire.

With shaking hands, I go to the miniscule back window meant for the pets to go out when needed. I hastily pull out the bracelet from my hand—the little effigies I had carved out of cat’s‑eye stone to tie the familiars to me. They don’t have to die with me. I try to throw my bracelet with all my strength out of the tiny hole. But the smoke has blinded me, and I can’t get a clear shot. It falls back in.

I am on all fours, gasping for breath and coughing. I order the cat to grab the bracelet and get out. I tell them all to leave. Ordinarily, they would have complied.

But they don’t. They have covered me from all sides the best they can. They are trying to protect me with their power, but they aren’t strong enough. I feel their frustration, their heartache, their loyalty, their friendship, their love…

…their never‑wavering devotion while the raging fire consumes us all. I can hear my familiars think of the man who deceived us into loving him; trusting him; giving him our all…

Their pain is my own as our lungs burn and hearts heave. How could death be so slow or so tormenting? I can’t find my knife to kill us. Someone had already removed it while they questioned me.

We burn together and I feel the crippling pain inch by inch…our hair, our fur, our feather…

Burning rage fills me as I feel my babies of magic die one by one just as clearly as I feel my unborn baby die within me…

My hollowed‑out heart lets go of that thread that ties me to life. I wish to die here and now. I beg the Gods for death…

Too slowly, I feel life leave me… Deep down, I know that when they find my body tomorrow in the museum, I’ll have one burn scar—on the wrist that now wears the bracelet…

END

Photo by Manpreet Kaur

If you would rather read it all together in the book, The Bracelet and other short stories is available for free download here: Link

Posted in Fiction, Published

The Museum: Part 1

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories.

Not sure why I went inside the museum that day. Was it loneliness?

Boredom?

Morbid curiosity?

Or was it just the hope of seeing Cleo again?

*****

It would be fair to say that he was neck deep in Egypt…or may be deeper still. He was absolutely in love with his birthplace. In fact, the first time I had met him was inside city museum’s underground Egyptian section.

That day, I was bored, had no plans and went alone. I was admiring the gold throne when Cleo had approached me and offered a tour of the section. He hadn’t even introduced his friend, who had simply smiled and left us alone.

He seemed quite well informed on the subject of ancient Egypt and his enthusiasm was contagious. He talked like a thirteen-year-old on a trip to a football match. Soon, I was skipping along his side from display to display. He had stories about each piece—the pottery and the potters; the carving and the carvers; the two sarcophagus (the elaborately carved ancient Egyptian caskets) and the mummies hidden inside—the king and one of his slaves.

He was intelligent and witty and had a quirky sense of humour. He was chivalrous but not overbearing. He treated me like a queen, and no woman can ignore that kind of attention. When at the end of visiting hours, he had asked me to visit again, I could not help but promise to return the next weekend.

So, for seven weekends, we met at the museum. We laughed and talked. I told him about my life at college, my dorm room and my crazy roommate. He told me about his childhood antics, crocodiles on the Nile, pyramids and Egypt. He was holding back his present life though, as if he wasn’t ready to share it yet. He didn’t tell me what he did for a living and if he had a family back in Egypt.

It worried me a little, but I wasn’t the one to probe.

And we had time.

His interest in me felt genuine though. When we held hands as we walked through the museum discussing different displays, I could feel that he was as reluctant to let go of my hand as I. Sometimes, he would look into my eyes with the look that made me wonder if he was going to get down on one knee and ask me to marry him.

I would have said “Yes” without doubt, even if it meant moving to Egypt with him.

But he never asked the question in words, and I didn’t know how to begin that conversation, especially since we were never alone—he wouldn’t leave the museum. He lived on the campus, or so he said. He wouldn’t come out with me for dinner, lunch or even coffee. He always had something to do, something to show, something to talk about, which was not his present life or our future. He didn’t even have a mobile phone number, so we couldn’t connect unless I visited the museum.

*****

Two weeks back, he told me he was moving to Egypt; and it seems that he had known the fact for a long time. Apparently, a certain part of the Egyptian display at the museum—including the mummies of the king and his slave—had come from a private collector whose family had acquired it from the black market several centuries ago without the consent of the Egyptian government, as was the norm in those days. But a team of Egyptian researchers had traced them back to the correct tomb a few years back. They had discussed the matter between the two countries and were moving the collection back to where it belonged. Cleo was leaving with it, back to where he belonged.

And I wanted to go with him.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

If you would rather read it all together in the book, The Bracelet and other short stories is available for free download here: Link