I fall asleep dreamily to the chatter of tourists that once again fill the darkened tombs. Memories flood through my mind, clawing at my heart as memories begin to resurface from the very first day I came here.
21st July 1918.
I remember sitting on my luggage at the airport, watching people walk past, whining like the fifteen year old girl I was. A trip to Egypt wasn't on the top of my list of priorities back then, but somehow I'd managed to get tagged along with the rest of my family - the side of the family that actually got enthusiastic about a trip away. I was the kind of girl who'd rather stay home and chill out with friends.
Who knew I could learn to live alone.
After being told numerous amounts of times that a) I should stop whining; b) look at least a tiny bit excited for the holiday, and c) remember that my family have paid for a nice peaceful trip, in which I must not ruin, I eventually boarded the flight. Lots of pairs of eyes followed us as we walked down the aisle, already about ten minutes late - there's no way our family would ever be on time.
"Take a seat and fasten your seat belts please." A voice called out over me.
Slipping into my seat, I adjusted the belt and leant my head back against the headrest that I thought would be comfy, but was actually as hard as a rock. So much for being able to fall asleep on the plane.
Tucking my bag under the chair in front of me, I sighed, a long long journey ahead of me. A journey that the people of my past generation had done, and one which surely I could survive too.
But it happens that the chances of my survival were lower than I thought...