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Grecian Pulse

Troy (Iliad)

Achilles

Book I

Forced to Run

The city of Troy, in its most beautiful hour, was bustling with cheerful Trojans. King Priam held an entrancing feast full of roasted pigs to forbidden fruit. While both his sons were at the sides of their father. Hector, the eldest and most cunning, sat to the right on his intricate throne. He knew, however, the exact reason behind the sudden arise in festivities. His gaze bore into that reason at this very moment. Black hair down past her shoulders, waves forever lengthening the shine. Every curve of her body, every feature of her face, Hector knew it all.

But now every curvature and muscle was stressed. Her lips were pushed forward in a modern pout. The soft redness already began to circle around her colors. He ached for her, to comfort her pain as well as his. The same torture dug deep into his heart more than it did hers. If his father knew it would cause this much suffering but this argument had already passed.

Paris, to his left, sat comfortably and more relaxed than his tense brother. The most beautiful woman was waiting for him in his quarters, Helen. His desire for her had grown even more unbearable as the day continued to grow longer with this early festival. Paris knew why it had been called out of his father's need of urgency. He had been watching him watch her as though the Gods themselves were to pluck her right off that chair and throw into a distant land. The pain both shining excruciatingly off their auras was enough to cause even Paris the same. Their intentions were clear. But he knew they could never be what with Trojan tradition and society stabbing into their happiness. Following the bloodshot stare of his brother, Paris observed her saddened posture. Arms were so tightly crossed into her chest, he could even see the muscles quiver from loss of freedom.

"Welcome my beautiful friends and charming guests to this glorious party. Today, Troy will cheer and celebrate why I have brought all of you together."

Don't look up.

They'll see.

They'll fall and expose everything.

Priam continued to ready his beloved people to the wonderful news. Introducing the end to my hope. I could feel the pounding beats thrashing through its veins. These arms have been crossed for as long as I've been sitting here. They ached to be released, to let the blood flow freely. But I refuse to have such freedom and relief unless Hector is there to force it. To have him pressed against my chest instead of these cramping arms.

The crowd made their whispers reach victoriously to the high ceilings as soon as the heavy doors opened to reveal the beautiful maiden, Andromache. Her radiance and charm was unmatchable to any woman in the room. She was, as Hector repeatedly quoted his father, "the proper wife to a prince and commander of Troy." She, who was now gracefully making her way towards her new groom, was going to marry the man I love and bear his children.

The moment Hector stood to meet her was more than enough. How I could I stay, watching Priam take his son's hand and join it with hers, telling Hector with his old eyes that this is what he should want. That no son of Troy can marry a woman, bastard daughter of a father she never met. Born on the sands of Argos to a mother who drowned herself shortly after giving birth in the Grecian waters. And a woman of disturbing characteristics, far from what a Trojan princess should be.

The balcony's edge stopped the escape from going further. The cold marble felt final beneath my palms. If Aphrodite truly was the goddess of love than she despised me and showered Andromache with everything I desired. The early morning stars still smiled even with the sunrise gracing the turquoise sea with its warmth.

Troy, no matter how beautiful it is or what memories it holds, I can no longer stay. This honorable country wants to force its prince away and I can only run away.

The rich balcony awaited the jump but I was already falling to the distant ground. Landing with a hard thump, I charged, from the only home I knew. Any man brave enough to jump that height would have broken both legs and fractured two ribs. And this is exactly why I'm running. Different with a taste of unwanted agility is what made me an outcast. An outcast with no direction and a bleeding heart.

I ran.

I ran until my blood pumped fire, until all the tears flew behind and made a trail only the gods could point out. The hard ground soon altered into soft white sand with each stride. The leather strapped sandals would sink even more, down the large dunes. Then out of this blinding passionate rage, I saw the bright waters and quickened speed. I would always look from one of the highest towers and reminisce its touch, every tiny speck rushing over one's skin. But it isn't as I pictured, I'm not the happy maiden gloriously bathing in the warm Grecian waters.

I am the broken girl who had just collapsed to her shaking knees into the shore. The ends of my torn white dress had already started to soak. The waves crashed hard onto the sand, taking away the salted sweat like silk sheets. More salt came, no holding back the erupting sobs. They came faster than the sun rising over the beach and Mediterranean. But even as the sun rose above, shadows still covered the long beach. I followed the shoreline as another wave crashed over this cold and shivering bod. There, in the porcelain sand, were towering ships with the signs of the Greeks.