THUD. THUD. THUD.
The pharaoh slammed on the lid of his sarcophagus, wrestling against the binds of his bandages, screaming in terror.
Curse his claustrophobia.
It had been too long since he was able to walk freely, and as he spent every night for more than 50 years trapped in his sarcophagus, he was bored.
Terrified, and bored. A terrible combination.
Tears would have streaked down his cheeks if the bandages had not soaked them up.
—
It felt amazing, being free for the first time in more than half a century.
To have the bandages striped from his body, his crown on his head, and being able to walk around, stretch his legs.
He was extraordinarily happy for someone who's tablet had been stolen.
He had to get his mind back on track.
—
Once he got ahold of his tablet, for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt a wave of excitement, disbelief and trepidation. What if the tablet no longer responded to him?
When it did work, a tsunami of satisfaction washed over him.
Oh how he loved the magic.
—
Minutes before sunrise, he hesitated.
His saviour, the one to release him, questioned the procrastination, with only a look.
A terrified look at the box and a murmur of his phobia was all that was needed.
Doing as he was told - he did own the man that much - he got into the sarcophagus.
He counted, as instructed, and as he reached sixty, he felt the magic leave him, his body dying once more.
When he woke the next morning, the lid was off his case, and a smiling face hovering over him.
Maybe he would get over his claustrophobia. Eventually.