The Short and Pointless Tale of the Boy Who Used to Love Anshient Egypt

by Seto Nakamura

Once upon a time Never mind. Forget it. Fairy tales aren't real. Assholes Jerks are. Sorry for writing a bad word.

I used to love learning stuff about Anshient Egypt. (Sorry I keep spelling that wrong.) Ever since I was little. I could tell you about how they would make pharaohs into mummies and build pyramids and sfinxes. And about the Nile River and when it floods and all the gods that they worshiped and hieroglyphics. And I bet I'm the only kid who's 8 who can read hieroglyphics.

Well it was all going great for a while but it was doomed to fale. Be-cause I shouldn't have told Yoshiro he was an idiot. Yep, that was what did it.

He made fun of me for reading about Ancient Egypt on Tuesday. He said I was pretending I could read the hieroglyphics and that I was making everything up. Well I could read them but he was too dumb to listen to me. He called me a loser that talks to my-self. So I called him an idiot.

He got mad and took my book that had my Ancient Egypt book-mark in it too. And he wouldn't give it back so I kicked him in the leg but his friends were there and they all kicked me back.

And did I get my book or my book-mark back? No I did not. Naomi said they put them in the dum-ster. Well I would look in the dum-ster but I can't clime right now be-cause my ankle hurts be-cause of Idiot Yoshiro and his Idiot Friends. Is idiot a bad word?

Maybe I'll ask Naomi to look for me but I will need some money to pay her be-cause the dum-ster is gross. Mostly I just want my book-mark back.

But anyway now I can't talk about Ancient Egypt at all be-cause Yoshiro and his friends make fun of me if I say anything and I'd rather not get beat up again.

Then Yoshiro and his friends lived haply ever after while the boy who used to love Ancient Egypt was cursed to suffer forever.

The End

Suzuki-san the counselor shut the tattered spiral notebook with a compact sigh. She crinkled with every movement, from her curly hair to her dowdy blouse and drab trousers.

Across from her, Seto sank into his sagging chair, arms and legs crossed tightly and twisted up like a pretzel. He had a nasty scrape on his chin. Suzuki-san couldn't recall a time she'd seen him without some injury or another. She saw Yoshiro on Monday; she'd have words for him then.

"Am I in trouble?" Seto mumbled, disinterested in the answer. "My dad can't leave work, so can I take home a note or something?"

"No, you're not in trouble," said Suzuki-san. She tried to hand him his journal, but he made no move to take it.

"I finished it. I don't want it."

She frowned but didn't press the issue, slipping the journal into her desk drawer. With a crinkling shift, she nudged her glasses up her nose.

"Do you want to tell me about Ancient Egypt?" she asked.

"Didn't you just read my story?!" he snapped, and Suzuki-san was struck by how pained he looked. "I used to know about it but I don't anymore. So no. Don't ask me. It's stupid."

He seemed to be holding back tears, and she almost wanted to cry for him. What could she say to help him?

"In your story, you said Yoshiro took your book from you on Tuesday?"

Seto regarded her with suspicion. "Yeah. Why?"

"The garbage truck doesn't come till tomorrow," she said. "Do you want to go look in the dumpster?"

He blinked owlishly, uncomprehending. Then a blush of gratitude crept up his neck. Did she mean it?

"...Really?"

"Yes. Let's go."

Thankfully the weather had been cool and crisp all week. That helped, somewhat, with the smell of four days' worth of elementary school trash. Suzuki-san still breathed through her mouth as she plunged her gloved hands between the grimy black bags and shoved them to the sides. Seto hovered behind her, wringing his hands.

"It's gold and blue and has black writing on it," he told her for the third time.

"I'm looking."

Suzuki-san rummaged through the dumpster for several more minutes, breaking a sweat partway through. She just started wishing she'd taken advantage of that free trial gym membership when her fingertips brushed what felt like...

"Wait—I think—" Suzuki-san stretched her arm as far as it would go. "Yes—here it is!"

"You found it?"

The book was coated with filth, sticky and matted with some kind of rotten food, but Seto snatched it from Suzuki-san and clamped it to his chest in a fierce hug. He peeled it open and rifled through the pages while Suzuki-san tried in vain to wipe the rubbish stains off her blouse. He tipped it upside down and shook it.

"My bookmark's not in here," he said.

"Oh…" Suzuki-san wiped her brow with her clean elbow. "Hm. It might've fallen to the bottom..."

As dedicated as she was, Suzuki-san didn't think she could disrupt enough trash to search the very bottom. Her heart sank. She paused to consider how she might phrase the disappointment, but Seto predicted her words.

"It's okay," he said quickly. "Thanks for finding my book."

She smiled. "You're welcome," she said, pulling off a crinkling glove to pat his shoulder.

He wrinkled his nose. "Now you and my book need a shower."

His honesty endeared him to her, and she laughed. Together they returned to the counselor's office.

Thursday nights were night-shift nights. His brother was asleep. And his school wasn't far from their apartment.

He crept down the sidewalks and slipped through the fence, as small and silent and slender as the cockroach he saw in his kitchen once. He snuck round the back of the drifting brick schoolhouse, where the shadows were somehow darker than the surrounding night. There he found the dumpster: an ominous outline, perceived by stench more than sight.

Were there bugs in there? Were there rats? Maybe a person, sleeping, hiding?

He wasn't afraid. He had a job to do. With all his strength, he pulled himself over the dumpster wall and fell onto the stinking, bulbous heap of trash with a squishy thud.

One by one, he rolled the garbage bags to the edge and lugged them over. One by one they hit the pavement with a splat, til they were all on the pavement and he kneeled in the empty dumpster in absolute darkness.

He should've brought a flashlight. He groped the floor with his bare hands, cringing and flinching at the terrible cake-like texture but never recoiling, never giving up. It had to be here...it had to be here…

It was. There it was. That had to be it. He scraped a massive handful of slime from the floor and shoved it into his pocket. Then he gripped the wall's edge with both hands, braced himself, and heaved.

Thud. His ankle hurt, but he didn't care. He was out and he had his bookmark and he HAD to get to the shower.

After showering for thirty whole minutes and checking on his brother, Seto dared to check the contents of his pocket, spreading his filthy pants beneath the scrutiny of the kitchen light. He wasn't sure what else he'd managed to scrape up besides (he hoped and prayed) his bookmark.

His prayers were answered! It was his bookmark! A laminated slip of pretend-papyrus paper with "SETO" handwritten on the front, in colorful hieroglyphics. Hastily he flipped to the back to triple-confirm. There was the date his mother had written, tiny and tidy. Yes, it was his! If it wasn't so gross, he could kiss it! He ran to his room to reunite it with his book.

In his excitement, Seto neglected to take stock of all that he'd gleaned from the dumpster that night. Left on the kitchen table in a grubby little pile were three coins; a half-eaten lollipop, long since fossilized; a torn index card with a grease-spotted list of vocabulary words; and a soiled lump of what might have been real gold, with dirt caked into its pattern of ridges.

PIECE #5: ANCIENT EGYPT

Doctor's Note: What was an obsession of yours as a little kid? One of mine was collecting things— erasers, keychains, dolls, little bouncy balls...and of course, eventually, manga! :) Also just to note - I'm using the typically English first-last name order throughout this story, just for stylistic purposes.

Thank you for reading! - Dr. MP