This is a short story I wrote about two years ago, decided to revise before publishing, and then never did. I had recently come across an emergent work of art that affected me deeply. The story is an attempt to provide that work with a satisfying etiology.
The Pharaoh gazed out from the palace doors. Already, beyond the swaying palms and flocks of wading ibis, he could see the sacred structure rising. It had been but a few weeks since he had ordered its construction, and he knew that it would be many more years before it was complete. But as he recalled some of the names of the pyramid designers, he smiled. His architects and engineers had earned their wisdom through age, and few would live to see their designs realized. But the Pharaoh, still so young, had time. Soon, he would have all the time in the world. more