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Those of you in the writing scene may already know this, but most publications won’t accept a piece that has already been published. Unfortunately, they include sharing the full piece (or even a large percentage of it) on your personal page as “publishing.”

That means that if you’re reading something on the My Works page that it has either already been published, it’s a small enough portion (a paragraph from a short story or a chapter from a novel) to not count, or, like many of the items I will share on this page, things that I don’t intend to publish professionally.

This is a piece I wrote... God, I don't know, maybe as much as 15 years ago. It's an idea I've had in my head but somehow never gotten around to finishing or researching. It's meant to be a fictional biography of the historical Imhotep - the architect of the first true pyramid, and the first historical figure to be deified by the ancient Egyptians.

In this scene, young Imhotep (11 or 12 years old) has recently arrived at court and befriended the slightly-older crown prince Djoser. Here he meets the other of his two closest companions.

Confession on accuracy:

Little is known about Imhotep, or the Pharaoh he likely served, Djoser. The other character in this snippet is my own creation, and her name comes from two common ancient Egyptian name components, "se" and "nefer." If I were ever to actually focus on this as a novel, I would of course do more research to determine if this is even a valid name.

Imhotep still held the full jar in his arms as he gazed up at nearly-full moon, and the white pathway of stars that spread out across the sky, like spilled milk that had not been wiped up well and left a long smear. The wind picked up a bit and he turned to face it out of habit, wondering from whence it blew and what caused it. Had the wind not picked up at that moment, or had he not been in the habit of observing things, he would not have seen her.

A girl stood down at the bottom of the bank. Where had she come from? He had passed no one.

She, too, stood with her face to the wind, eyes upturned to the sky, the wind gently stirring her gown like the soft waves at the edge of the river where she stood. She breathed deeply, as though drinking in the very moonlight. Then she turned, and their eyes locked. She smiled.

He could not say what it was in that instant - he who always asked “why” and was never satisfied with “because” – could not lay a term to what caused it, but his heart clenched tightly in his chest. The jar slipped from his hands.

Water coursed from the oblong vessel as it rolled diagonally down the bank, spinning as it came to rest near the girl’s feet. Imhotep came half-running, half-tumbling after it, nearly knocking into her as he picked up speed at the bottom of the slope. He crouched awkwardly to grab it, but she had already stooped to retrieve the jug and was now holding it out to him.

“I’m sorry –“ she started, just as he stammered, “For-forgive me-“

She smiled again, and he bit his lip nervously as he stood. And they both spoke again, both speaking over each other.

“Oh, were you –“

“No, you go first –“

She laughed, and he found himself laughing with her.

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” she offered when he found he didn’t want to speak over her again.

“No, I… I didn’t expect to see anyone,” he explained. “Did I startle you?”

She grinned before answering. “Before or after you threw your water jug at me and came charging down the hill?” He almost dropped the jar again in fear she had mistaken what she had seen. Then he realized she was making a joke. He had never been good with jokes, but he tried to play along.

“Oh! Well, that would be before, I suppose. I didn’t plan it very well. The shape of the jar combined with that slope… the trajectory… it never would have rolled straight…” he trailed off.

She watched him with a slightly perplexed look on her face. He could feel his face growing hot. He hated that – he never could understand how that happened. He was contemplating just bolting back to the palace when she let out the thrilled, almost barking laugh.

“Trajectory! Ha!” she snickered, seeming quite pleased now. “Oh, I know who you are, then. You’re Imhotep, the tutor’s son, aren’t you? Djo says that you make the best jokes, but that it takes him hours to figure them out.”

“Djo?” Imhotep repeated. He didn’t think he knew anyone named “Djo” – but then, putting a name to a face had never been his strong suit.

“Prince Djoser. My brother. Half-brother.” She shrugged. Imhotep was suddenly terrified, realizing who he was speaking to, and dropped to his knee.

“M-my lady. Princess Senefer. Please… please forgive me for speaking to you so informally. And… and without a…a chaperone.” Now he had done it. Someone was going to find him speaking to one of the princesses – no, the princess who was to be Djoser’s queen – outside the palace, at night, just the two of them. He’d been told what people think of that sort of thing. If anyone caught them out there together, would he be able to convince them it was just coincidence?

“Please don’t,” the princess said, a hint of pleading in her voice. “Please don’t kneel to me.” He looked up, surprised. Where she had looked delighted earlier, she now looked worried. Slowly, he stood; watching her.

“Why?” Imhotep asked, forgetting for the moment that it was impertinent to question the crown princess. He had met some of her half-sisters, a giggling gaggle who were constantly adjusting their wigs, seemed perfectly happy that people had to kneel to them, and seemed just as pleased as could be that they were Pharaoh’s daughters.

“I don’t know,” Senefer answered. “I’ve just never liked it. And there’s no one else here to tell you to do it anyway.” …

“Princess!” The call came from closer to the palace, an edge of panic to it. “My lady Senefer! Are you out here?”

“I have to go!” She looked genuinely torn and she turned and hurried back up the bank. Then she paused. “It…it was nice meeting you, Imhotep,” she said, sounding as nervous as he felt. Another quick smile and she disappeared over the edge of the bank and out of his sight.