The stretch of pain

The palladium became silent. The mighty Achilles draws his breath one last time. His head bent down, he draws in another. The silence is deafening. The thumping of his heart is getting louder and louder. He hears it. He feels it. He knows that these are the few sounds that shall pave the way to his doom. Hi eyes looking up, head bent down. The smallest drop of perspiration drips from a strand of hair onto his forehead. He allows a millisecond to close his eyes. In that sudden darkness he remembers his glory days. When bruises were ignored and wounds revered. He remembers the steam baths where they gathered to exchange faculties of battles and honor. The scent of the Grecian women as they passed in the square, how captivatingly soothing it is to him. He remembered her. Her warmth, her laughter, how her head would tilt towards him as he spoke. How she hung on to his every word, yet brought wisdom with every reply she made. He drew in another breath. Shakier, this time. He could almost catch a whiff of her fresh talc. How she found that crevice in his shoulder each and every time he sought out her comfort. How no words need be said between them to make the moment nothing short of pure magic.

He opens his eyes. Reality strikes, just as the feeble arrow has struck him. He knows his time is near and he can feel Death hovering over him. Gone are the scents and comforting visions of calm. Gone are the war cries that powered him forward through the swords and the blows. Silence. Absolute silence. Fear starts to grip him. As Fear and Death race up his spine he looks down at his ankle, where the deadly arrow has struck. Beautiful loving Mother Thetis, I am reminded of your generous love for me; your unworthy, dying son. From the sea all creatures cringe at the sirens of grieved Thetis, hearing Death rip his soul from his body. More silence. The mighty Achilles drops to the ground, his arm steadfast into the earth. He looks up one last time. Silence.