I want, I need to remember. So much I’ve lost. Hundreds of millions, lost to distance, lost to time, lost to indifference. I sit back, thinking of the placid waters of the Jordan River. It still flows, is it blue? Is it? The sun is rising, its yellow light permeating the chamber with clarity. A new day, a new day, this is by far the easiest part of my day. The colors are all so vivid, it’s hard not to just stare at the walls. They are arrayed in their orderly fashion, the repetitiveness is soothing, the simplicity of it all. It’s nearly time now. I can feel it. My guards are large, broad men with broad broad shoulders. But I have no fear. I am the God of the Egyptian’s, Hamun. I cannot be wounded, not by any man or beast. I have no fear. I have no hate, I have no love. The sun will soon rise. I will surely descend into the darkness. And then I will face them, the pantheon of Egyptian Gods. I will enter my new hallowed hall, and analyze their plans. And then I will judge them. I will be merciful, perhaps. I will be merciless, I do not know. I don’t know. I don’t know who I am.
"Alright, let's take them out." I think to myself. I'm standing in a nine foot tall circular cage. There's a domed roof, and an opening in the top. A nine foot tall man with a spiked metal headpiece and a loose fitting tunic stands in front of me. He says nothing. I say nothing. I look to the ring. An announcer is there, a girl with a microphone. She steps forward.
"And in this corner," she says, "weighting in at two hundred sixty two pounds, the god of the egyptian pantheon, HAMUN!"
The audience cheers. The cheers come, but it’s not like the cheers you would hear on television. No one holds up signs, no one screams or shouts or agitates. It’s quiet. It’s eerily quiet, and the more quiet it gets the louder and louder my heart beats. I can hear it, and I’m frustrated and I’m angry and I don’t know what it is. Why do I have no control over my nerves, why do I have no control over myself? I have no control. I have no control of this. Why am I here? Why am I here?
“Thank you!” She yells into the microphone. “You’ll see why in a moment.” The crowd titters and pops and whoops. The girl with the microphone steps aside and I come out. I stand in the middle of the ring and I am naked. My body is covered in tattoos down to my thighs and my arms. I stare at the audience. The crowd is silent. No one is applauding. No one is screaming. I stare at the bright circular screens above my head and it’s like I’ve walked into an eerie digital river. They show objects, locations, conversations. They’re crisp and vibrant and I hear the people around me answer questions. I try to listen, but I can’t hear the questions well. I hear the people around me describe their dreams, describe their work, describe their life, but all I can see is what I see on the screen. I’m angry. I’m angry because I know I’m angry and I don’t know why and I’m angry and angry and angry and angry.
I turn and the other man is the other man and I don’t know because we’re naked and we’re angry and we’re angry and angry and angry and angry accost.