The Little Boy Who Discovered The Pyramids

Flash fiction

The little boy got hold of an empty packet of Camel that his uncle smoked. He placed the packet by his bedside table and the packet grew into a door frame.

He reached out with his hand into the warm land of the pyramids, which welcomed him away. As he crossed over— the light overwhelmed him, and the sun shone brightly from behind the pyramids.

How would a dog go up the brittle, broken, giant steps ? He looked back towards the door that was no longer there.

Would mum walk in and find that he wasn’t in his room? He’d have a peek and run back home. Wherever that was now.

Behind him, and in the distance, sand. And light.

His stomach made a funny little sound.

The little boy continued his climb, arms and legs decorated with war wounds. He’d reach with his gangly limbs and drag himself up, latching himself onto the next step with his elbows.

Every time he hit stone, his delicate bones vibrated.

He’d never really gone anywhere on his own before. It was always with his mother, or with his father, or with his friends. To the zoo where the bears cried from loneliness.

The smell of the pyramids didn’t bother him. It was like when adults gathered in the kitchen and smoked, drank and ate, reeking like the fried engine of their old car.

The darkness inside was the kind of darkness that could swallow a boy’s soul, and there was a swirling, hissing sound, from the dancing wind.

He walked towards the promise of pure gold, but he couldn’t even find his feet. Maybe the wind had blown them away.