Authors note: I wrote this about 5 years ago as the base to a story about immortals, but I got side tracked and have forgotten what the actual story was supposed to be about. But I found the notes and decided to post them, as I would really like the feedback. As some of you might guess there are some familiar literary characters involved. But it's not about them. I do remember the story was supposed to open with a letter. And this is it.

Disclaimer: I own nutting, except the I person.....(uuuuhhhh????)

Rating: quite harmless as it seems to be only this part.

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I was forced to relive an interesting experience today.
This afternoon they opened the grave. They found the entrance to the tomb in the morning. And I suffered as I waited for them to clear the entrance.

Even my handwriting suffers.

I was forced to look and act surprised, and oh so excited. You can not imagine how hard it was. And my heart cried. As they ruthlessly cleared away the rubble I thought of all the loved ones I had lost, outlived. Suddenly my "gift" felt even more curse like and damning.

I am not like you ....you can find happiness, and you have. I have loved only once, and doubt I will ever do so again. I had found my other half, my "soul-mate". And then lost more than I had gained, I lost myself, my heart, my mind, my will to live. What you have filled with love, or lust, as I must see it, I filled with wandering, rootless. Even if my roots run longer and deeper than those of any other living being.

And then you disappeared. And I was so lonely again. My love lost, my father lost, and both still alive. God, I hated the world.

So here I was, pretending I didn't know every tunnel, every room inch by inch. I had to pretend I didn't know to whom the tomb belonged. I had to pretend I didn't know for whom it was built.

But the hardest part was pretending not to know the hieroglyphs by heart, not to know every sign on the walls. I had to pretend not to know every name, every word, every tale. To have no clue of their meaning.

They where to excited to notice my lousy acting. Only Muhammad, the foreman, noticed. He looked at me strangely and tried to cheer me up by slapping me so hard between the shoulder blades I thought my back would brake.

And we continued onwards. None of them commented on the lack of debris or the strange lay out of the tomb, not even the usually very observant professor.

My thought returned to her, her face, her eyes, her smiles. I remembered running into her arms and breathing in her scent.

Suddenly I was inside the grate chamber. The gigantic pillars brought back memories, booth sad and happy.

As in a dream I followed the others deeper and deeper into the tomb. And suddenly I was there. Staring at it framed by pillars. I was pulled out of my dreamlike state as fingers of ice griped my heart and I looked down on my own sarchopagus.

I can still feel the lingering touch.

As their greedy fingers caressed the stone searching for a cartuch with the owners name on it I wanted to scream tat them to leave it alone, to stop this sacrilege

I saw that none of the local workers seamed bothered. They hadn't spent any time on prayers and protective spells.

Imagine their surprise when they opened it and it was empty. Not one single piece of warping left. Not that there had ever been any. I wondered if they would ever realise it had always been empty. I hoped not. They wondered and cursed. Why had someone bothered to take the mummy but none of the jewels?

At night the Professor sat watch over "his" tomb. I wanted to run out and yell at him that it was mine, that he had no right to it. I wanted to hit him over the head with something heavy, preferably one of his damned cats. I doubt he would have been all that impressed. He probably would have suggested a nice cup of tea to calm me down.

At dinner Ramses (does fate have a sense of humour?) declared he might know who the tomb belonged to. After a dramatic pause, the boy does have a flare for the theatrical, he announced it belonged to a daughter of that said pharaoh.

I nearly ran out screaming.

Loneliness beats on me like a merciless hunter seeking easy prey. And I am easy prey. I have nothing, and she taunts me, as I the prey remain looked into my fear. It would be so much easier if you where dead, if he was dead. But you are both alive and out of my reach.

Which one of us is more human, you or I?

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So, what do you think? Please, pretty please review. I´m begging on my knees here...