My Pharaoh

Chapter 1

Paloma

My father taught me how to fight from a young age. Maybe he was turning me into the son he never had, maybe he was teaching me to protect myself as a woman. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful for all that he taught me.

I know this isn't why he taught me to fight. He taught me to fight in an honourable way, to fight in defence rather than attack. But this is the only way I can save my village from starvation and drought, the only way I can save my father from being as stressed as he has been recently, as the village chief. I do miss his smile. And if fighting in this way will bring it back, then I can't stop.

So here I am, in Memphis, miles away from my village in the south, lying in bed, waiting to hear about my next kill.

The first time I killed for money was four months ago. I've been in Memphis for five months now, and have made enough kills to prove myself and establish a reputation of danger and doing what people pay me to do, fast and clean.

At first I didn't get paid that much, but it's picking up. Now I'm being hired by politicians, businessmen, traders.

Tomorrow I'm going to send the money I've saved up back home, the money I haven't used for rent and food.

But until then, I need to sleep. Rest enough for the next time I have to murder, I have a feeling I'll be hired tomorrow, in fact, I know I will. I'm just waiting to hear from him.

I close my eyes. The room I rent is small, with a bathroom and cupboard, where I keep food, clothes and whatever else I own. But I like it. The window is above my head. I keep the blinds slightly open at night, so the breeze brushes over my face in the warm nights, and the white curtains flys methodically above me.

It reminds me of home. The wind that dances in the trees, the grass, the flowers, the white dresses. The warm, welcoming breeze. I'm so homesick.

One of the men I travelled here with told me that when people as young as me come to Memphis, they get addicted to it, they forget their roots and their village and their people, even their family. They fall in love with the fast life, the busy people and endless buildings. And they never go home.

I don't know what he was talking about. All I think about is going home. Seeing my dads face. Seeing my whole family. Seeing the Nile as it is without all the people that exist in Memphis. Seeing the country, void of irritating noises. I miss hearing the birds, the wind, the water. The sound of people, at the right volume and in happiness.

When I open my eyes, I see the curtain fluttering in the air.

This city doesn't sleep at night. And it doesn't rest in daylight, it's always awake. There's always noise. So much noise.

***

I walk to the post office and send the money in sewn up material to my dad's village office.

When I get back to my room, sure enough, Amr is standing there, to tell me about a new request, a new man that doesn't know he'll be dead by tomorrow.

He tells me everything I need to know, his usual spots, his address, his close associates and his connections.

Before he leaves he turns to me, "don't feel guilty, this guy's bad, like all of them, he's a politician, a corrupt rat, probably a serial rapist. Don't feel guilty Amunet."