A/N: Well, here's my version of The Mummy, completely screwed up
with.um.creativity abound. It is told from the point of view of one of my
original characters, Taylor Drew.
THE MUMMY---All Screwed Up
Chapter I: A Night At the Kasbah
It all started that night at some kasbah. . .well, technically, it started about 3,000 years ago, but now I'm getting ahead of myself. Or, behind myself. . .Anyway, I was eavesdropping, as usual. You never really know what you're going to learn---a few things I wish I never had, admittedly. Anyway, it was a rather unusual conversation, I must say, between a very inebriated American whose name I later found was O'Connell, and an English pick-pocket I learned was named Jonathan. It was one of those typical, deep and intelligent conversations between two people who can't even presently remember their names:
"Hey."
"Heh."
"What's that?" at this point, our esteemed Englishman motioned at an odd little box dear Mr. O'Connell held.
"Uh. . .a box."
"Can I see it?"
Now, really people, would you actually respond to that? Would you honestly give over your odd box to some stranger? I soon learned that Mr. O'Connell was not of the intelligent race of human beings (this race including my invalid brother, Rob, whom I had left home with his teddy bear).
"Sure," O'Connell forked it over. Jonathan glanced around for a moment, then turned and ran. After a delayed reaction time, the American ran after him, shouting. I figured that's the last I'd see of them. How wrong I was. I also never figured that that box had any significance to my quest for Hamunaptra, but once again, I was very, very wrong.
THE MUMMY---All Screwed Up
Chapter I: A Night At the Kasbah
It all started that night at some kasbah. . .well, technically, it started about 3,000 years ago, but now I'm getting ahead of myself. Or, behind myself. . .Anyway, I was eavesdropping, as usual. You never really know what you're going to learn---a few things I wish I never had, admittedly. Anyway, it was a rather unusual conversation, I must say, between a very inebriated American whose name I later found was O'Connell, and an English pick-pocket I learned was named Jonathan. It was one of those typical, deep and intelligent conversations between two people who can't even presently remember their names:
"Hey."
"Heh."
"What's that?" at this point, our esteemed Englishman motioned at an odd little box dear Mr. O'Connell held.
"Uh. . .a box."
"Can I see it?"
Now, really people, would you actually respond to that? Would you honestly give over your odd box to some stranger? I soon learned that Mr. O'Connell was not of the intelligent race of human beings (this race including my invalid brother, Rob, whom I had left home with his teddy bear).
"Sure," O'Connell forked it over. Jonathan glanced around for a moment, then turned and ran. After a delayed reaction time, the American ran after him, shouting. I figured that's the last I'd see of them. How wrong I was. I also never figured that that box had any significance to my quest for Hamunaptra, but once again, I was very, very wrong.