Mummy Brown, by Kate Axeford

Browns, from A nomenclature of colors for naturalists - and compendium of useful knowledge for ornithologists, by Patrick Syme. Originally published in 1814.

And We Are Mummy Brown 
 
Mummy Brown screams from the walls of the Louvre, and nobody rushes to shh, or rescue. We’re a fugitive colour, always fading, but there’s no escaping our fate. Caput Mortuum. ‘Dead man's head'. You made paint from pulverising the Egyptian dead. Raw to burnt, we lie – un-rested – between the umbers. A tragic shade from a shocking trade.

And you named us Mummy Brown.

Labour was cheap. Our flesh was prized. And you dug deep to rob the Ancients. From sacred tombs to mummy pits. Pharaohs. Felines. Defiled. Unfurled. The cloth that bound us ripped, unravelled. And when you’d emptied our resting places, you excavated the executed, mixed bodies of slaves with criminals, and animals. Disinterred. Shipped to Europe to feed your greed for the exotic. Ground together to become one mummy.

We. She. Mummy Brown. 

But ignoring the wrath of our deities, you robbed the bodies that housed our spirits. Rich men. Yes, you man, made a killing. Violated what should be sacred. Desecrated the Underworld, our souls gracing your disgraceful palettes. 

And we are Mummy Brown.

Take a child’s heart. A criminal’s mind. A cat’s curiosity. A Queen’s pride. A hawk’s patience. A crocodile’s cunning. A mother’s strength.  An elder’s longing. Add songs of the silenced. The fury of slaves. Us, wisdom of ancestors. Us, medley of souls. 

Your arrogant alchemy, a twisting of fates. 

You made us Mummy Brown. 

A stain upon your history. But there’s one blank canvas – just one landscape left unpainted. 

And Mummy Brown has waited. 

Tomorrow we’ll rise, brush out the living. Your skyscrapers crimsoned, your mud turned to red. Or maybe we’ll rise above your grave crimes? With roots connected, we’ll nourish this earth. Our force for nature. Our force, for good. 

Listen.

Atone.

You can still be saved.

Saved by Mummy Brown.
 
Kate Axeford

Kate Axeford (she/ hers) is a social worker who lives in Brighton and loves the sea. She’s made appearances in various lovely journals and when she's not writing is often to be found contemplating writing. She's been shortlisted for Bridport and longlisted for Bath Flash Fiction award. Find her @KateAxeford