Hey everyone. I neither own or am affiliated with anything having to do
with The Mummy, The Mummy Returns, Universal Studios, or any of the
characters therein.
The metal of the gun was cold and it made a clicking sound everytime he moved it in his hands. It was heavy but still light enough for him to lift in the air and aim at one of the many mounted animal heads on the opposite wall, across the room. He didn't know why, but it felt right. Everything seemed familar to him, as if the gun was supposed to mold to his hand exactly. He let his eyes wander and moved the aim of the gun onto a vase sitting on a table in the left corner, then to a clay statuette of an African tribal warrior on the bookshelf. He finally rested his gaze on a mirror on the side wall. He concentrated on his reflection, one eye closed while his unruly, sandy colored hair fell over his forehead.
"Bang." He whispered. He smiled slyly, blew on the barrel of the gun and let it rest at his side.
"You should always keep both eyes open when shooting a gun." He heard a British voice say from behind him.
He felt himself squeeze the trigger in surprise which let a shot ring out into the floor, inches from his right pinky toe. Uh oh. Major, uh oh. He wasn't even supposed to be in that house, let alone playing with any type of weapon.
"You'll see twice as well, I mean." A burly man said when there was no other response.
He didn't hear the rest of the man's statement, for he was looking for a quick, clean exit, eventually coming to realize that the man was blocking the only opening in the room.
The stranger standing before him cocked an eyebrow and rubbed his short, gray, handle-bar mustache, still expecting and answer.
"Well, are you going to say something or aren't you." The man tried again, leaning against the doorway.
Looking down, he opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly darted to the doorway and tried to run past the inquisitive man who in turn grabbed him by the waist and held him with both arms.
He kicked the air and tried to flail his arms to hit the man with the gun he still held, but the medium built man was stronger than he looked.
"Let me go, old man!" He shouted, still kicking, but gradually growing tired.
"Old man? Don't you know the proper way to talk to your elders, boy?" The man smiled, "Now let me have a look at you."
He set the boy down in the green plush chair quaintly placed in the corner by the collection of revolvers and rifles displayed on the wall. With his blue eyes, light hair, and devil-may-care attitude, it was more than easy to tell that this child wasn't like any of the Arab children that he'd seen roaming the streets.
"Okay, let me guess. Your a ten year old American boy who has lived in the Cairo orphanage, located four miles away, and has just recently escaped in hopes of finding his real parents, and most likely goes by his last name or any other alias."
"Good guess, but I'm eight, going on nine, years old. I have no idea or care for who my parents were, and only escaped from the orphange to get away from the damned place." The boy's upperlip curled into a signature sly smile.
"Just as well.... So what do you go by?" The man quiried.
"Hey, I don't have to answer to nobody!"
Chuckling, the man removed his hat, revealing a semi-bald head, "Well, I'm not 'nobody' now am I."
This was replied to with a roll of the eyes and a 'pshh'.
"Winston Havelock , at your service." He extended his hand in greeting.
The boy was reluctant, but took the Brit's hand and shook it heartily.
"The name's O'Connell. Rick O'Connell."
"Ha ha! O'Connell then! Well, come on, we've got all day to get you cleaned up and taken care of."
Rick looked dumbfounded, "What? Uh, I mean... Who's says that I'm stayin'!" He had retreated back to his rude nature in hopes to cover up his surprised reaction.
Winston just laughed, "Well, I do. I mean, you've traveled at least a day and a half, on foot no doubtedly. Why, I wouldn't be more than surprised if you were hungry enough to eat a camel!"
Rick cringed, thinking of the filthy beasts. It was hard enough to smell them let alone have to eat them. Not that he ever would, of course.
The metal of the gun was cold and it made a clicking sound everytime he moved it in his hands. It was heavy but still light enough for him to lift in the air and aim at one of the many mounted animal heads on the opposite wall, across the room. He didn't know why, but it felt right. Everything seemed familar to him, as if the gun was supposed to mold to his hand exactly. He let his eyes wander and moved the aim of the gun onto a vase sitting on a table in the left corner, then to a clay statuette of an African tribal warrior on the bookshelf. He finally rested his gaze on a mirror on the side wall. He concentrated on his reflection, one eye closed while his unruly, sandy colored hair fell over his forehead.
"Bang." He whispered. He smiled slyly, blew on the barrel of the gun and let it rest at his side.
"You should always keep both eyes open when shooting a gun." He heard a British voice say from behind him.
He felt himself squeeze the trigger in surprise which let a shot ring out into the floor, inches from his right pinky toe. Uh oh. Major, uh oh. He wasn't even supposed to be in that house, let alone playing with any type of weapon.
"You'll see twice as well, I mean." A burly man said when there was no other response.
He didn't hear the rest of the man's statement, for he was looking for a quick, clean exit, eventually coming to realize that the man was blocking the only opening in the room.
The stranger standing before him cocked an eyebrow and rubbed his short, gray, handle-bar mustache, still expecting and answer.
"Well, are you going to say something or aren't you." The man tried again, leaning against the doorway.
Looking down, he opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly darted to the doorway and tried to run past the inquisitive man who in turn grabbed him by the waist and held him with both arms.
He kicked the air and tried to flail his arms to hit the man with the gun he still held, but the medium built man was stronger than he looked.
"Let me go, old man!" He shouted, still kicking, but gradually growing tired.
"Old man? Don't you know the proper way to talk to your elders, boy?" The man smiled, "Now let me have a look at you."
He set the boy down in the green plush chair quaintly placed in the corner by the collection of revolvers and rifles displayed on the wall. With his blue eyes, light hair, and devil-may-care attitude, it was more than easy to tell that this child wasn't like any of the Arab children that he'd seen roaming the streets.
"Okay, let me guess. Your a ten year old American boy who has lived in the Cairo orphanage, located four miles away, and has just recently escaped in hopes of finding his real parents, and most likely goes by his last name or any other alias."
"Good guess, but I'm eight, going on nine, years old. I have no idea or care for who my parents were, and only escaped from the orphange to get away from the damned place." The boy's upperlip curled into a signature sly smile.
"Just as well.... So what do you go by?" The man quiried.
"Hey, I don't have to answer to nobody!"
Chuckling, the man removed his hat, revealing a semi-bald head, "Well, I'm not 'nobody' now am I."
This was replied to with a roll of the eyes and a 'pshh'.
"Winston Havelock , at your service." He extended his hand in greeting.
The boy was reluctant, but took the Brit's hand and shook it heartily.
"The name's O'Connell. Rick O'Connell."
"Ha ha! O'Connell then! Well, come on, we've got all day to get you cleaned up and taken care of."
Rick looked dumbfounded, "What? Uh, I mean... Who's says that I'm stayin'!" He had retreated back to his rude nature in hopes to cover up his surprised reaction.
Winston just laughed, "Well, I do. I mean, you've traveled at least a day and a half, on foot no doubtedly. Why, I wouldn't be more than surprised if you were hungry enough to eat a camel!"
Rick cringed, thinking of the filthy beasts. It was hard enough to smell them let alone have to eat them. Not that he ever would, of course.