Born in a world of sand and sun, the river it's lifeblood. I've grew up in a small farming village off the Nile in Egypt. Through the day my mother toiled to plant and harvest crops for the Great Pharoah on his throne.
At night she'd return to the house, only to have to feed her son, me. We ate little, except that which my mother smuggled into the house and kept from the collectors.
During the day I had little to do, the local kids always picked on me, sure I was skinny, I had nothing to eat! I found ways to keep myself busy.
My uncle lived on the other side of the village from my house, but whenever I could I fled to his comfort. He seemed to know me, almost more than I knew myself. He'd usually have a piece of bread for me, and pat me on the head as I came to the door.
It was my uncle that taught me to read. I was fascinated with books and any other document I could get my filthy hands on. I'd spend hours reading on the floor while my uncle would just sit and watch me. I'd look out of the corner of my eye and notice him staring at me. When I asked him what he was doing he'd say 'nothing' and keep watching. It was those moments that my uncle had a funny look to him, like an outsider I'd never seen before. Then again it was probably just my eyes drying out from extended reading. I'd just rub my eyes, and go back to reading.
The gods fascinated me. How complex they were, and how much like us. But there were no priests in the village, nor temple. It wasn't until later that I began to wonder why my uncle had so many books, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I also loved rhymes and riddles, and at night I'd make sure I was home before my mother so she wouldn't worry. I'd have a great new riddle for her and try to have her guess what it was. Sometimes she'd get it, and other times she wouldn't but she always tried just to make me happy. The land was one of my fancies as well, other people other lands, I longed to see them all, to meet people who dressed differently, who talked and walked differently.
As I neared the age which I was expected to work, the boys my age grew bigger, and I stayed rather small, having to look up to them in more ways than one. Many times I'd be slammed into a wall, shoved to the ground, and those were days they were nice to me. I didn't know why they did it, I guess when you live in a small village and the only thing to do is beat up on the little guy that's exactly what you do. It was a living hell.
My uncle would re-assure me that it was alright, and that they'd get their due. That's exactly what I hoped for, and some days I spent the entire day reading, just to get my mind off the terrible things that those boys had coming to them...
Then it happened one night. I'd stayed a little longer than normal at my uncle's. The moon was high in the sky, like an unblinking eye. I began to run across the village after saying good-bye to my uncle. My bare feet scraping rocks as I ran fast as I could. As I rounded a corner I slammed into one of the bullies I had problems with. He pushed me back and to the ground. Some of his comrades came around the corner too. They began to beat me repeatedly, but I didn't even feel them grabbing me. I was no longer in control, almost as if someone pushed me aside and took over. But the horrors that followed I still had to watch. My thoughts were not my own... 'blood...kill...revenge!'
The rest is too horrible to mention other than that at the end I was lying naked outside the village. Only blood and a few bits of cloth adorned me. I was scarcely awake when my uncle came. He calmly picked me up and carried me to a near-by cave. Later that night when I'd re-gained consiousness I asked him what'd happened, sub-consiously thinking he'd have an answer. 'Nothing' he said, "But now I must tell you 'something.'"
by B.F.