The Awakening of Setem-Ka

1.

The ancient sarcophagus sat in silence, bathed in the sterile glow of the museum's fluorescent lights. Suddenly, on the stroke of midnight under a full moon, Setem-ka's eyes snapped open, darting back and forth in confusion. 

“Where's the frigging lid?!” He said aloud, spitting a couple of loose teeth.

"And where the fuzz am I?" he croaked, voice hoarse from centuries of disuse. Slowly, he sat up, taking in the alien sights around him - glass display cases, humming air vents, and glowing exit signs. Frowning, he ran his bandaged hand along the smooth interior of his coffin. This was not the afterlife he had envisioned.

With a grunt, Setem-ka heaved himself over the side of his sarcophagus, rotted linens trailing behind him as his sandaled feet hit the tile floor with a soft slap. He shuffled forward cautiously, neck craning as he peered at his strange surroundings. 

"Anubis, guide me," he muttered. "What is this peculiar realm?"

His eyes widened as he noticed more familiar shapes - canopic jars, funerary statues, a child's toy in the shape of a cat. Remnants of his past, but obscenely displayed like casual trivialities rather than sacred relics. The artificial chill of the air conditioning made him shiver and pull his tattered robes tighter.

"Is this... is this my tomb?" He shook his head. "No, it cannot be. Where are the offerings, the murals, the hall of pillars? And the snacks, of course" 

He felt awfully dead, but with all the ghost sensations of his old living self.

Gingerly, Setem-ka padded down the silent corridors lined with glass enclosures, his reflection multiplying back at him - a lonely, desiccated figure, a living ghost. 

"Hello?" he called out tentatively. "Is anyone there? Neferu, my love?" Only the hum of the ventilation answered him.

He realised he was speaking a foreign, barbaric language, but it felt like a native tongue on his rotten teeth. Somehow this place must have exposed him to the alien sounds. Though the museum was eerily empty, he could perceive the echo of thousands of feet shuffling around the corridors.

“This is not my beloved home, nor my time…”

As he turned a corner, Setem-ka froze. There, in a brightly lit case, was his own death mask, the gold glinting mockingly under the spotlights. He approached slowly, pressing a hand to the glass.

"What sorcery is this?" he whispered. "My soul, trapped behind this invisible wall? Oh, what has become of me, of the world I knew?" 

A deep melancholy settled over Setem-ka as he gazed at his mask, a relic of a life and era long turned to dust. He was a man out of time, and a dead man at that, alone in an incomprehensible future. A wry chuckle escaped him.

"Well, at least I'm still devilishly handsome," he quipped to his unresponsive likeness. "The goldsmith did a decent job, all things considered."

With a sigh, Setem-ka turned away from the case, resigned to exploring this strange place—his new, though hopefully temporary, resting place. "I suppose I should make the most of this peculiar afterlife," he mused as he wandered down the hall. "But first, I need to find a decent snack. Surely they have something more appealing than dried figs and stale beer here..."

He was aware he couldn't eat, but a vague fear made him look for anchors in his mortal past.

2.

As Setem-ka rounded another corner, a waft of unfamiliar aromas assailed his decayed nostrils. Curious, he followed the scent trail to a brightly lit room filled with strange furnishings—tables and chairs of gleaming metal and smooth, colored stone. The far wall boasted a vibrant painting of his own visage, grinning whimsically beside a list of exotic dishes.

"'Pharaoh's Delight,'" Setem-ka read aloud, his brow furrowing. "'Indulge in the flavors of ancient Egypt—mummy-approved! Try our Pyramid Parfait, Nile Nectar Smoothie, or Cleopatra's Chocolate Delight.' What in the name of Ra is this blasphemy?"

“And who on earth is Cleopatra?”

The night hours spared him the sight of patrons approaching the counter, exchanging bits of paper for trays laden with colorful, oddly-shaped delicacies. But the sight of his own face grinning beside pictures of those strange concoctions was the final straw.

"Enough!" Setem-ka bellowed, "I will not stand for this mockery!" He stormed out of the café, his appetite thoroughly soured.

Setem-ka burst through the museum doors, desperate for some semblance of normalcy, only to be assaulted by a cacophony of blaring horns, screeching tires, and the chatter of countless voices. He stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and awe at the towering glass and metal structures that loomed overhead, glinting in the artificial light that seemed to emanate from every surface.

"By the gods," Setem-ka muttered, "what manner of sorcery is this? Are these the fiery chariots of the underworld, come to claim my soul?"

A group of strangely-clad young people approached, their faces alight with mirth and excitement. They swarmed around Setem-ka, holding up small, glowing devices that flashed brightly in his face.

"Whoa, sweet costume, dude!" one exclaimed. "Are you, like, an actor or something? Can we get a selfie with you?"

Setem-ka blinked, utterly baffled by their words and actions. "I... I am Setem-ka, Lord of the Two Lands, King of Upper and Lower Egypt," he managed, drawing himself up to his full height. "I do not know what a 'selfie' is, nor do I consort with commoners in outlandish garb... And you should be sleeping, at this hour of the night, by the way…"

The partygoers laughed, assuming he was simply playing a role. They snapped a few more pictures before moving on, leaving a thoroughly perplexed Setem-ka in their wake.

"Osiris preserve me," Setem-ka whispered, his heart heavy with confusion and loneliness. "This world is not my own. I am a stranger in a strange land, a Pharaoh out of time. How am I to navigate this madness, to find my place in a world that must have long forgotten me?"

With a heavy sigh, Setem-ka trudged down the street, his once-regal bearing diminished by the weight of his realization. The future stretched out before him, vast and unknowable, a landscape as alien as the surface of the moon. And yet, a small, stubborn part of him refused to surrender to despair. He was Setem-ka, after all, a king and a warrior. He would face this challenge as he had faced all others—with courage, cunning, and perhaps a touch of humor, why not, to lighten the burden of his lonely existence.

3.

As Setem-ka wandered through the bustling streets of London, his eyes were drawn to a shop window displaying an array of Egyptian-themed trinkets. Miniature pyramids, ankhs, and even small replicas of his own sarcophagus sat alongside cheap, gaudily painted statues of ancient gods. The sight filled him with a mixture of nostalgia and revulsion.

"Reduced to mere baubles and curiosities," he muttered, shaking his head. "Is this all that remains of my legacy?"

He stepped closer to the window, his reflection overlaying the display. For a moment, he could almost imagine himself back in his palace, surrounded by the trappings of his power. But the illusion was shattered by the sound of a passing car, its honking horn jolting him back to the present.

Setem-ka moved on, his sandals carrying him through the unfamiliar cityscape. He paused outside a bookstore, where a sign advertised a “Cosy night lecture” on ancient Egyptian history. Curiosity piqued, he slipped inside, finding a seat at the back of the small audience.

The lecturer, a bespectacled man in a tweed jacket, droned on about the reign of Pharaoh Setem-ka. "He was known for his military prowess and his grand building projects," the man said, clicking through a series of slides. "But ultimately, his reign was short-lived, and he left little lasting impact on the course of Egyptian history."

Setem-ka bristled at the words, his hands clenching into fists. How dare this mock scholar presume to sum up his life in such dismissive terms? He had been a great king, a warrior who had expanded the borders of his kingdom and built monuments that should have endured for eternity. He had even been happy, at times.

And yet, as he listened to the lecturer's simplified account, he couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to it. Here, in this strange future world, his accomplishments seemed to have been reduced to mere footnotes in the annals of history.

"I was so much more than that," he whispered to himself, his voice tinged with melancholy. "I was a living god, a ruler of men. But now, I am nothing more than a curiosity, a relic of a forgotten age."

Suddenly he felt pitifully small.

“I ruled over the subject and the slave… Now they must be mocking me from somewhere across the expanse of the stars.”

With a heavy heart, Setem-ka rose from his seat and slipped out of the bookstore. He had seen enough of this world, enough to know that his place in it was tenuous at best, and not only because he was terribly dead.

The future stretched out before him, vast and unknowable, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the familiar comforts of his own time.

Can anyone survive till after all the trinkets and textbooks have turned to dust?

4.

Setem-ka's weary feet carried him through the quiet streets, his mind still reeling from the revelations of the modern world. The weight of his golden collar seemed to grow heavier with each step, a cruel reminder of the life he had left behind.

As he approached the museum, the imposing structure loomed before him, its grand facade a stark contrast to the humble mud-brick buildings of his own time. With a deep breath, Setem-ka ascended the stone steps and slipped through the doors, the cool air of the museum washing over him like a balm.

He retraced his steps through the winding hallways, past the glass cases filled with the remnants of his civilization. The displayed artifacts that had filled him with rage now seemed to beckon him, their silent presence a reassuring warmth.

At last, he found himself standing before his own sarcophagus, the intricate carvings depicting scenes from the Book of the Dead. Setem-ka stared down at the coffin, his heart heavy.

"Is this to be my fate?" he murmured, his fingers tracing the hieroglyphs that spelled out his name. "Am I to spend eternity as a mere curiosity, a forgotten king in a world that has moved on without me?"

“I just woke up, but I'm so damn tired”.

5.

He thought of the Nile, the lifeblood of his kingdom, its waters sparkling beneath the sun. He remembered the lush fields and the bustling cities, the laughter of his subjects and the warmth of his family. All of it, lost to the relentless march of time.

With a heavy sigh, Setem-ka climbed into the sarcophagus, his movements slow and deliberate. He settled himself upon the cushioned interior, his hands folded across his chest in the traditional pose of the dead.

"Let me dream of the Nile," he whispered, his eyes drifting shut. "Let me find solace in the memories of my past, for there is no place for me in this strange new world."

As he closed his eyes, Setem-ka felt a sense of peace wash over him. Here, in the darkness, he could pretend that nothing had changed, that he was still the mighty Pharaoh he had once been.

And so, he surrendered himself to sleep, his mind filled with visions of the life he had left behind. The museum settled into silence around him, the ancient king once more a relic of a forgotten age, his brief foray into the modern world nothing more than a dream.

A cloud, respectfully, hid the moonbeams and bid him a serene, good rest.

6.

The following morning, the museum hummed to life, the staff arriving in small groups, their chatter echoing through the halls. They moved about their duties, checking exhibits, preparing for the day's visitors, unaware of the extraordinary events that had transpired the night before.

As the day wore on, visitors streamed into the museum, their voices a constant hum of excitement and wonder. They gathered around the exhibits, snapping photos and reading placards, absorbing bits and pieces of history.

In the Egyptian wing, a group of children pressed their faces against the glass surrounding Setem-ka's sarcophagus, their eyes wide with curiosity. "Look at that!" one of them exclaimed, pointing at the intricate carvings. "It's like a giant treasure chest!"

Their teacher, a middle-aged woman with a kind smile, chuckled softly. "It does look like that, doesn't it? But actually, it's called a sarcophagus. It's where the ancient Egyptians buried their kings and queens."

The children oohed and aahed, their imaginations sparked by the idea of royalty and ancient tombs. They moved on, their attention already drawn by the next shiny object, leaving Setem-ka to his rest.

Inside the sarcophagus, the Pharaoh lay still, his features composed in a mask of serenity. Dreams of the Nile played out on his semblance, vivid and bittersweet. He walked along its banks, the sun warm on his skin, the laughter of his daughters ringing in his ears.

The weight of the ages lifted from his shoulders, and he was home once more, a king in his own land, beloved and remembered.

The museum continued its dance, the ebb and flow of visitors incessant; all of them unaware. All of them sleeping.

Only Setem-Ka had truly awoken.