The Egyptian Assassin

                                              

It was centuries ago when I was born. Or… created I should say. I was hand-crafted by one of the best sword-makers in all of the land. Egypt! The greatest country in the world! I was advertised as being the best new weapon around. My job was a simple but immoral one: to kill.

I was first called into action about a month after I was put in the shop. A young man, about six foot tall with scars that suggested an unsafe background, walked in and the store full of lively civilians suddenly seemed to freeze as if a nightmare had just entered. The shop owner immediately bowed down and handed me to him without saying a word. And then, just like that, my journey began.

The scarred man grasped me with his stone cold hands and shoved me into a satchel by his side. All of a sudden, I saw nothing but darkness and a small ray of light from a hole in the bag. I felt an overwhelming tired feeling. Everything sort of faded out after that. I awoke hours later when the scarred man grabbed me out of his bag. I studied my surroundings and soon realised that I was in a darkened alleyway. The man was now wearing a hood and a scarf covering everything but his two black eyes. Dead ahead of us was a man in what looked like priceless silk robes. 

As we approached the man at alarming speed I realised that my owner was not a soldier, he was not a weapons collector OR a normal person at all. This man was a ruthless assassin! I panicked. Yet all I could do was watch hopelessly as the owner hurled me at the man in robes. I made clean contact with the man’s neck. I looked away but I could still feel the blood pouring from the man’s neck onto my forked blade. It was the most memorable kill I made. All weapons remember their first kill. Mine however, seemed to be extremely brutal. I knew that from that point onwards, my life would consist of many kills just like that one. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I can’t tell how long the assassin left me there for. But it felt like years. I just waited and waited until, in the middle of the night, a man wearing nothing but rags picked me up from the dead man’s body and took me through the centre of Cairo to an apartment. As we entered, I saw a fat man in golden robes sitting on a throne with two other people in rags fanning him down with leaves. The man in rags showed me to the fat man. He nodded and I was picked up. Suddenly there was a huge crash and a group of barbarians stormed in and threw spears at the men in the room. The barbarians robbed them and one of them grabbed me. They ran through the city. Everyone we ran past gave us evil looks; some even spat at us.

We soon got out of Cairo and into the desert. At this point it was night time. I saw a village of tents with people dancing round a fire. When they saw us they cheered. For some reason, I felt like this was going to be my home for a while. The man carrying me showed me to his friends. They all looked astonished like I was the best piece of technology they had ever seen. I felt proud of myself. The man put me down in the middle, by the fire, and I saw how happy everyone was. They were all dancing and enjoying themselves. The smell of burning sage overwhelmed my sense of smell. All I could hear was drums and singing. It was a very happy atmosphere. 

After a while, there was a sound of drums that was clearly not coming from us. By this time everyone had gone silent. A single flaming arrow flew into the crowd. Thousands followed. The whole tribe erupted into panicked screams. A man grabbed me and threw me into the crowd of charging members of what looked like a rival tribe. I landed right between the eyes of a strange man wearing war paint and carrying a spear. He paused for a second then fell to the ground with a thud. Many people trampled over us. After that I think I blacked out because the next thing I remember was the same man that brought me to the tribe picking me up from a sea of dead bodies. It was a horrible sight. There were the dying embers of the fire from the night before still burning. I recognised a few familiar faces lying on the ground, not moving. It was a sight I desperately want to forget.

That was the first of many similar battles. They all seemed to end the same way, with most of the tribe dead on the floor. My last battle started similarly to all the others, but then about three hours into the fighting I heard a gunshot. It felt very nearby. My owner suddenly dropped to the floor. He dropped me as well. As we fell, I saw a British man standing over me with a gun pointed at the back of my owner. I saw hundreds of similar soldiers with guns. He picked me up and put me into his bag.

I awoke days later and looked up to see my reflection on a glass case. I saw many other swords and weapons like me placed all around me. They told me what had happened. It turns out I was taken to the Pitt Rivers Museum and was put on display. It was slightly hard to get my head around, but I soon came to terms with the idea of it all. I am happier now. We pass the days by telling stories of our lives to each other. It's not a bad way to retire. Once or twice I even saw children drawing me.

by Sam Shaw