Nature's Wonders

Framed by sky and rimmed by tree,

A world of wonder waits for me,

Where light is filtered through the trees,

Where flowers mingle with the bees,

Where crickets sing and birds chime in,

Where worries end and paths begin.

Breath in the fresh pine-scented air,

Gaze upon the creatures fair,

When peace and joy are what you feel,

And everything is bright and real,

Then listen to your soul's glad song,

Enter the woods and walk along.

Daddy's Zombies

 I swung my legs under the too-big chair, tapping my fingers on the thin wooden sides. I hummed to myself while I waited for my dad.
 All around me, dead bodies rotted.
 Most of them were coffined, some of which were stacked like boxes in a moving van, while some stood alone. A few bodies lay out in the open, faces grey and sunken. There were even a few urns, sprinkled around the room on top of or next to the towering stacks of coffins.
 The walls of the room disappeared behind coffins, urns, and piles of bodies higher than a full-grown man. I'd walked for a long time to get here, to the exact middle of the room, to sit in this hard wooden chair. I'd gotten tired towards the end, and Daddy's employee had to carry me.
 I breathed in the rotting stench of death and kicked my legs faster. A wide grin spread across my small, round face. It smelled beautiful- like baking bread, or wet paint and sawdust. It smelled like home to me.
 I heard footsteps plodding down one of the aisles. Soon, a man in a previously white lab coat, now stained with browning blood, turned a corner and came into view. Swimming goggles protected his eyes from anything that might splatter. He held a test tube with a strange liquid in either hand- one was blue, one was red.
 "Daddy!" I squealed, jumping off my chair and hugging his waist.
 He laughed, setting the test tubes down next to an urn to pick me up and swing me through the air. Then he set me down, still giggling, on my chair.
 "Okay, Sara," He said, retrieving the vials. He held one out to me, and I wrapped my little fist around it.
 "You got it?"
 I nodded, and he put the other vial, the blue one, in my left hand.
 He knelt down to be eye-to-eye with me.
 "Close your eyes," he instructed. I did.
 I'd started to hone my abilities even before he said, "Focus, Sara." I knew the drill.
 Every hair on my arms stood on end. I opened my eyes to watch the show.
 Hastily, Dad called into his walkie talkie to turn off the lights. Then he took the batteries out of the tool and tossed them away. Any electrical device in the area could be dangerous.
 It started with a spark, a single ark of purple light, and then a whole matrix was jumping back and forth between the vials, like a constantly changing spiderweb. The electricity traveled down my arms, into the floor.
 It tickled.
 Then sparks started going further. One entered a bare body, and it's fingers began to twitch. Another arc dove straight through a coffin's lid, and a few seconds later it's occupant fell out, squirming on the floor, unable to remember how to stand.
 Soon the room was as well lit by the purple sparks as it had been by luminescent bulbs minutes ago.
 All around the massive room, bodies rose. But what was really interesting was what happened to the urns. All the ashes from every container rose into the air and collected in a heap in an area cleared for that propose. There, it collected into the vague shape of a giant- Arms, legs, head, torso, and as more ashes floated in, it grew and grew.
 Whole minutes passed until every body was affected. They stood slowly swaying, waiting for orders.
 The sparks died down. The lights came back on. I blinked at the change. I tossed the vials aside; they were empty.
 "Say what we practiced, Sara." Daddy grinned, practically jumping up and down with excitement as he surveyed his new army.
 I remembered the time we'd spent in my bedroom, when he'd pounded the sentence into my head so many times, I'd known it was impossible to forget.
 I took a deep breath. I spoke slowly, but sure of myself. "By the power given to me by those who bestow the gift of Ner- Nero-..."
 I heard Daddy suck in a breath as I strained to remember how it was pronounced.
 "Necromancy, I order you to heed the orders of this man."
 I pointed sternly at my Dad, scowling at the multitude.
 I looked at my Daddy. I'd never seen him smile so wide; at least, not since I first touched a dead man, and he twitched.
 He bent down and kissed me on the cheek.
 "Thank you, sweetheart."
 Then he turned to face his army again. Wide metal doors at one end of the room began to lift.
 "Thorough the doors!" He shouted. "Into the world!"
 Obediently, they began to shuffle through the now useless wooden boxes. The ash giant, by now, had to duck to get through the door big enough for an airplane.
 My Dad followed them, calling over his shoulder for me to go back to my room.
 "You don't need to see this next part," He told me sternly.
 But I wanted to see the helicopters take off- I didn't know where they were going, but I loved the wind and sound the propellers made.
 So, after waiting for my dad to disappear, I scrambled towards the doors.
 I almost immediately ran into a man whose overalls were almost as bloody as my dad's coat.
 He frowned. "Didn't boss tell you to go back to my room?"
 "No." I hate lying; always have. "Well... Yes."
 He sighed, and escorted me back to my room. We walked down white, sterilized halls, without window or decoration. Then we came to my door. It was painted pink.
 When he opened it, it revealed a room holding almost everything a little girl could want. Almost.
 Stuffed animals stacked on a huge, fluffy, pink bed. Dolls and a huge, multi-level doll house. Paint; crayons.
 But no books, no TV, no computer. The only way I knew any of that existed was Sam. He worked for my dad, but he liked me more. He'd said so.
 Sam hadn't been able to actually get me any books, but he'd gotten me a newspaper. Newspapers, he'd explained, wrote about what happened in the world. Important things, like wars and fashion and earthquakes and some place called Wall Street that had lots of numbers in it.
 My Daddy told me that what we were doing, what he'd been working on, (he called it 'our little project',) was going to change the world. So maybe it'd show up in the newspaper.
 Sure enough, next week came around, and Sam brought me another newspaper. The headline was in all caps. That made it important.
 Before sounding out the headline, I looked at the picture below it. I smiled. It was a picture of Daddy, and his army, standing on the steps of a very large, very white building with lots of pillars and a dome on top.
 I looked at the headline again. I didn't know that word. The next chance I got, I asked Sam about it.
 He shivered, and then said... How did it go...
 Ah, ah-pok, ah-pok-al....
 Right! Apocalypse.

Tomb

 Let me tell you, being the guardian of a slimy pair of some kid Pharaoh's lungs for eternity is not a fun job.
 Oh, sure, there were those exiting tomb robberies, and it felt good to keep those thieves away from the important bits. Don't get me wrong, that was awesome, but the waiting was killer, excuse the pun.
 Times were, I was called to guard countless folk's organs. Times were, I meant something to people. Someone would mention Hapi, and all the scribes around would nod and go, 'Oh, him, the son of Horus. The lung dude. Yeah, he's cool.' Now, you say Hapi, people think you're saying happy, and they just get all confused.
 Stupid English.
 I don't guard nearly as many organs as I used to. Most of them are destroyed. Not my fault, mind you- weathering, mostly, a few rats, and, okay, maybe a few tomb raiders, but I swear, there was nothing I could do. Is it my fault if one of the dancer girls entombed with the Pharaoh was a really hot virgin? No. Of course not.
 I know I'm supposed to hate the tomb raiders, (all my brothers do,) but if you ask me, they're a much better alternative to archaeologists. If an organ jar gets stolen, someone's bound to steal it again soon, and it just keeps going; you get to come up with more and more ways to try and keep it safe. But once it ends up in a high-security museum, with people all around, well, you're pretty much out of a job.
 And that brings us to where I am now, leaning nonchalantly against the display case that holds my charge, watching the museum visitors swirl around me. My brothers, Imsety, Duamutef, and Qebehsenuef, (I kinda lucked out in the name department,) lean against the same case, one of us on each side of the rectangle. More or less, we face our cardinal directions. I face North-ish, Imsety faces South-ish, and, well, you get the picture.
 We stand inside a velvet rope barrier, which I guess is to keep fingerprints off the display glass. Because it certainly wouldn't do much good against a robber. Unless, of course, they happen to have a deadly fear of velvet ropes. In which case, they should probably spend the money they make stealing on therapy.
 We're all invisible to the crowds, of course. Not only would it seem a little strange for us to stand 24/7 around a glass display case holding something not particularly interesting, but three men with the heads of a baboon, jackal, and hawk, then one normal-looking ancient Egyptian guy would definitely draw attention.
 People wander by, skimming the plaque that explains our jars, and then they walk away again, presumably to look at more interesting, more golden, things.
 "This is so stupid," Duamutef mutters to no one, his snout protruding into the air. He stands on my right, facing East-ish.
 We all mutter agreement, but there's not many options. We can stand either here, or else someone's private collection, or one of the few tombs so far undiscovered. At least here, there are other people to watch.
 "I wonder..." Duamutef continues, still to no one.
 He steps over the velvet rope, into the throng of people. They pass right through him, unaware.
 "Duammy, no!" Imsety yells. He is no longer facing South-ish, but is staring in astonishment at our newly adventurous brother.
 (We all have nicknames for each other. We have to. Have you ever tired to pronounce 'Qebehsenuef' in a hurry? Go ahead. I'll wait.)
 Duammy grins, then his face goes slack with surprise. He pivots, bends in half, and enthusiastically dry heaves. None of us have eaten in centuries.
 The three of us share a worried look. We wait for Duamutef to realize his mistake and come back. We can instantly travel from one location of organ jars to another, but have never tried to wander away. We've always known we'd be punished.
 But Duammy is determined. We don't know what to do. He continues to heave for several seconds, then straightens. He turns back to us.
 He pauses, waiting for another attack. It never comes. He takes a few more steps back, experimentally. Nothing happens.
 With a grin, he turns and runs out of the exhibit. We lose sight of him.
 I act on my gut. (Get it? The guardian of an organ acts on his- never mind.) I vault the velvet rope and start running straight away. I know from Duamutef that I'll have a few seconds before the sickness starts.
 I ignore the shouts behind me and sprint through the insubstantial crowd. I've always been the fastest of our group- it says that in the Book of the Dead somewhere, I think. By the time my stomach clenches, I have Duamutef in my sights.
 I'm reduced to a painful hobble as the heaving starts, but I tackle Duammy and we writhe on the floor as I gag.
 I'm surprised by how quickly I feel fine. I pull Duammy and myself to our feet and look him sternly in the eye.
 "What were you Ohh awh thinking!"
 Sometimes, when I'm upset, my baboon nature leaks through a bit more than I'd like it to. Duamutef starts to laugh. I try to give him a look that tells him to shut up, but I doubt the message gets across. He pushes me away and laughs his annoying jackal laugh.
 Behind me, Imsety clears his throat loudly. I turn, and see him standing above Qebehsenuef, who is still retching.
 Imsety opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a blaring sound.
 Alarms.
 We dive towards the entrance of our exhibit and look inside, desperately hoping that it wasn't what we thought it was.
 No such luck. The case that had held our jars moments ago was smashed, and all four containers were gone.
 No time for blame- okay, maybe a little time for blame. I punch Duammy in the arm. Imsety smacks him upside the head. Then it's down to business. We automatically know who's in possession of our charges, and even if we didn't, the scruffy guy in a black hoodie running out the emergency exit would be a good bet.
 We race after him, all shouting curses. Not the swearing kind- well, I think Duamutef lets loose a few of those. But mostly, we say the ancient Egyptian may-you-and-your-decedents-live-always-in-pain-should-you-not-release-our-jars type.
 He trips on the fire escape stairs. Whether that's our work or just chance, none of us are sure, but we run to his side either way.
 The jars go flying through the air.
 "No!" The four of us, as well as the thief, yell more or less in unison.
 They shatter on the stairs. All of them. Suddenly, old powdered organs are left laying bare in the Sun.
 We stare at them. The thief gets up and jumps over them, but we ignore him.
 We've never seen the things we guard this clearly before. Seeing them in a dark tomb or hastily hidden in a dumpster is so different than this.
 We've spent our entire existence looking after these 'treasures', yet they look like something the cat coughed up. And whether or not cats are considered holy, that's not a good thing.
 We have two options: go find another set of organs, or run.
 We make eye contact. We know what to do.
 As the cops arrest the thief, they naturally don't notice four invisible gods sneaking out, too.

Explain why they retch