The Cobra of Smoke - The Burden of Sight

Shantali Mae Cross had been working security at the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts for eight months when her life fractured along lines she never saw coming. It was a Tuesday night in October, 2:47 AM according to the timestamp on her incident report—though she would never file that report.

The emergency lighting in the Egyptian wing had been flickering for weeks, casting strange shadows that danced across the sarcophagus displays. As she rounded the corner near the Ptolemaic collection, she noticed what appeared to be smoke drifting from the direction of the cobra-headed canopic jars.

Fire protocol demanded immediate action, but as she approached, her flashlight beam revealed no flames, no heat, no acrid smell of burning artifacts. Instead, the smoke carried the scent of jasmine and aged parchment, swirling with impossible precision into the form of a cobra, hood spread, regarding her with eyes like glowing embers.

In that moment, Shantali saw her future unfold in the serpent's smoky coils: herself accepting a promotion, arguing with a dark-haired man in a hospital corridor, standing in a white dress before an altar, weeping at a graveside under autumn leaves. The visions lasted perhaps three seconds, but they seared themselves into her memory with crystalline clarity.

When she blinked, only wisps of ordinary steam rose from the heating vents.

‘What fuck was that?’ Shantali thought to herself holding her head as if if might explode because that’s what it felt like.

“You ok Tali, love?” David asked touching her shoulder gently.

She jerked away from his touch, her body still humming with residual energy from whatever she'd just witnessed. David's concerned face came into focus under the stuttering fluorescent lights, his dark eyes searching hers for answers she couldn't give.

"I'm fine," she lied, her voice steadier than she felt. "Just thought I smelled smoke."

David glanced toward the canopic jars, then back at her. "The heating system's been acting up all week. Maintenance said they'd get to it Thursday." He paused, studying her face. "You sure you're alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

‘Or a prophecy,’ she thought, but kept her mouth shut. The visions still flickered behind her eyelids—that hospital corridor argument felt so real she could almost hear the echo of raised voices, smell the antiseptic and desperation.

"Just tired," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Long shift."

David nodded, but his expression remained skeptical. "Why don't you take your break? I can cover this section."

She wanted to refuse, to stay and examine every inch of the display case, to see if she could coax that impossible smoke to return. But David was already pulling out his radio to report their position to dispatch, and she knew pressing the issue would only invite more questions she couldn't answer.

"Yeah, okay." The words felt foreign in her mouth. "Thanks."

As she walked toward the staff break room, Shantali's fingers unconsciously traced the outline of her phone in her pocket. She needed to document this somehow, needed to understand what had just happened to her in the shadow of those ancient jars.

The images went around in her mind like a merry-go-around. ‘What did they mean? Who was in the hospital? Who’s grave was that?’

The break room's harsh fluorescent lighting made her squint after the museum's atmospheric dimness. Shantali pulled out her phone with trembling fingers and opened her notes app, but when she tried to type what she'd seen, the words felt inadequate. How could she capture the weight of those visions, the certainty that had flooded through her as the smoke-cobra's ember eyes held her gaze?

*2:47 AM - Egyptian wing - smoke formation near canopic jars. Jasmine scent. Visions: promotion, hospital argument (who?), wedding (?), funeral (when?). Duration: approx 3 seconds. Physical effects: disorientation, residual energy sensation.*

She stared at the clinical description, frustration building in her chest. It read like the ramblings of someone having a breakdown, not the methodical observations of a trained security professional. But what else could she write? That she'd witnessed an ancient Egyptian prophecy manifest in the heating system's steam?

Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, but she drank it anyway, using the bitter taste to anchor herself in the present. Through the break room's small window, she could see the city stretching out in the pre-dawn darkness, unaware that something impossible had just occurred within these walls.

The door opened and David appeared, his expression more concerned than before.

"Tali, I just walked through that section again." He sat across from her, leaning forward. "There's no steam coming from those vents. Haven't been any moisture readings on that side of the wing all night."

Her phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table.

Shantali's throat tightened. "What do you mean? I saw it clearly."

"I believe you saw something," David said, his voice gentle in that way that made her want to both trust him and push him away. "But the environmental monitors don't show any change in humidity or temperature in that section for the past six hours."

She stared at him, mind racing. The museum's atmospheric monitoring system was state-of-the-art—installed after that incident in the basement last year when a steam pipe burst and nearly destroyed an entire collection of papyri. The system didn't lie.

"Let me check the security footage," she said, already rising from her chair.

David caught her wrist. "I already did."

The way he said it made her pause. "And?"

"Nothing, Tali. Just you, standing there for almost a full minute, completely still. Then you grabbed your head like you were in pain." His thumb traced small circles on her wrist. "That's when I came to find you."

She pulled her hand away, uncomfortable with the tenderness in his touch when her mind was spiraling into chaos. "The cameras must have missed it. Or maybe—"

"Maybe you should take tomorrow off," he suggested. "You've been working doubles all week."

Anger flared hot and unexpected. "I'm not hallucinating, David."

"I didn't say you were." His voice remained infuriatingly calm. "But whatever happened clearly shook you up. There's no shame in taking a mental health day."