Footsteps. Sandy footsteps, long faded. An ancient stone, shattered into crystal dust. A brass ring, thrown out into the street. A soft lullaby in a shadowed corridor. A whisper. fading on the wind, long since dry of ancient lfie. "You have- set me free. My chosen. My...chosen." A shovel fell with a thud to the ground, in an abandoned shed by a farmer. "Oh my god. My god! What is this?!" He saw a withered corpse, wearing an ancient robe, half submerged in a sand pit, head facing the sky, it's facial features barely noticeable. In it's hands it grasped an ancient reed-pipe, held to it's lips in a final performance before dying.
He crouched down to study it's hands, where rings were hastily placed. "Well. Look at what we have here. Haha! It's a bloody corpse. And it looks like whoever you were, you were bloody rich!!" The sand moved a little. He frowned. "Huh. That's strange. Daaaaad?" He called to his house. A male answered. "Yes? What is it, son?" "You should probably come take a look at this. I think I found something."
He heard footsteps outside and his father appeared at the doorway with a rifle. "Yea? Well lemme check it out first." He entered, and pushed his son aside, then knelt down. "Well. Lookee here." His son asked, "What is it? Do you know?" "Yes. I think I very much do. It's a mummy. A bloody ancient one to be sure. Look at it's hands. My god. Have you ever seen such beauty?"
The boy frowned. "Why does it all the sudden feel so hot?" His father glanced at him with concern. "What? It's 50 degrees out here, son. Hardly summer. In fact, you should've put on a sweater. Come on. I think we should leave this corpse be." The boy lowered his head in sadness. "And let all that jewelry just go to waste?" The father shook his head. "No. Out of respect for the dead. I feel that this corpse deserves it."
The boy shrugged. "Oh, well. It could've been a fortune for us." As they left the father turned back to the corpse, and whispered, "You should've stayed dead." He closed the door and moved a bench in front of it. Because, just as they went back to their house, the corpse's fingers closed in a fist, dried skin crackling in the dry air.
