A Game of Tag

Maya’s linen wrappings rustled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across desert sand. The itch, that persistent, maddening tickle, had not abated. It danced just beyond her reach, a phantom sensation that made her want to wiggle and squirm in a way that was decidedly undignified for a mummy of her standing. Her sarcophagus, once a place of serene slumber, had become a battleground for her own skin. She tried to shift, to scratch with a spectral fingernail, but her stiff limbs moved with the slow, creaking grace of an ancient door. Pip, the tiny, iridescent scarab beetle, was perched on her nose, his minuscule legs tickling her stony skin. He was a jewel of emerald and sapphire, his shell shimmering in the dim light that filtered into the tomb. He wiggled his antennae, a gesture that Maya, in her current state of prickly annoyance, interpreted as pure, unadulterated mockery.

“You!” she hissed, her voice a dry whisper that seemed to echo from the depths of time. “You are the source of this torment!”

Pip, however, seemed unperturbed. He scurried a little further up her nose, towards the bridge, and then, with a flick of his tiny wings, launched himself into the air. He buzzed lazily for a moment, a miniature whirlwind of annoyance, before landing on the edge of her sarcophagus. He tapped his little legs, a rhythmic drumming that Maya felt more than heard. It was a challenge. A dare.