I'm building pyramids. It's Ancient Egypt. It's hot. It's dry. It's sandy orange everywhere.
I'm not a slave. There are no slaves here but we pull ropes attached to enormous limestone blocks that roll across logs. Our feet are black soled and our clothes ragged. There is a man of importance standing over us. I know we are not slaves but I also know that he is watching us closely.
I want the pyramid to be built for me but I know they are not. It is for someone else and I'm sure it is the man watching us.
Maybe I should take his place. I don’t think anybody would notice if I slip away from the ropes.
Except the man of importance. He is always watching.