Alternate Ending - The Song Of Achillies

Alternate ending

Achilles traces his eyes over the man, the man extends his arm above his shoulders only to bring it back down, pushing the boat forward in short motions. He was an ugly man, his nose crooked and his face shrouded in a beard, his eyes looked lifeless and were the colour of dry dirt, that would not bring forth life. His name was Charon.

Charon lifted his eyes to Achilles, void of emotion and life "We are here" he says, with a low and scratchy voice "and the coin?" A singular gold coin was Charon's payment for bringing souls to the underworld, which lay past the river. Achilles brought his eyes up to meet Charon's, green eyes gleaming with vivid freshness, tossing a coin to Charon, Achilles shortened his breath and nodded stepping off the boat. For the journey to the underworld was said to be difficult.

Achilles walked, a stiff and heavy walk. Only now had Achilles realised what he had done, the gravity of his actions had not seemed to him so heavy before, but now, he would have more than enough time to think and regret. His throat grew thick and eyes swollen with tears. He had been warned by the gods not to, but he had done it anyways. If he had waited a bit... if he had buried Patroclus, perhaps he thought, he wouldn't be alone right now. But what use, he thought, would it be now. Patroclus was drifting between worlds, bound to the living yet not of the living. He would see and hear, walking the earth as a spirit, no one knew of. Regret led to frustration, Achilles kicked the sand beneath his sandals and stared at the mountains of sand that lay ahead of him, the colour of the sand was a light orange, an almost yellow colour, it was strange to look at, almost as though it was concealing a savage shade of red. Two sets of pillars lay parallel to each other, each set after the other. Achilles looked up, frowning as he attempted to guess the height of the pillars, for they had been too tall for even the greatest of warriors.

Achilles breath fastened, with every further step that he took, sweat slicked at the back of his neck and on his arms, he had been walking for longer than he ever had, even the Trojan war had not been so demanding. During his walk Achilles thought for hours what he would do, and he had decided. He would go back, go back for Patroclus, he would defy the gods once again, for Patroclus. Achilles legs brought him to a halt as his eyes lifted up to meet its eyes. It was a strange thing, nothing like Achilles had ever seen before, he had of heard of it in stories, but it was strange seeing a three headed dog moving with life. It was called a Cerberus; it held a duty of preventing souls in the underworld from returning to the word of the living, whilst guarding the gate to Hades. Fear was a foreign thing to Achilles; he lifted his sword and sliced the air in an entrancing dance. The three headed dog was an unworthy opponent, though its eyes red like freshly spilled blood on a battlefield and its tail like that of a scorpion, it had not phased Achilles. Achilles was a war hero, he had defeated a god, the tide of war changed with his presence, he had troubled the plans of the gods with just his being. A three headed dog would have not taken him a breath to defeat, but with every step he took forward, memories flashed back to when had been in the world of the living, and he would render himself unfit to fight with memories of Patroclus and regret. When he had come back to his senses, he would find that his eyes were bloodshot and leaking  life. Days and then months passed in the mortal world, as Achilles lay in grainy sand after every failed attempt of advancement.

Achilles Lifted his sword, his movements as smooth as a fish swimming through water. Today he thought, today he would defeat the Cerberus, today he would look at the future and not the past. Achilles moved forward advancing forward quickly, his eyes targeting the dog's neck, and as he steadies himself he hears a voice behind him. A familiar voice he had replayed in his head a thousand, no a million times. He turns around to face the bearer of the voice. His legs scramble forward and his body lunges to meet him, his arms embrace Patroclus tightly and he weeps a long bitter cry of sadness mingled with relief. Patroclus smiles holding Achilles carefully, as he is as fragile as he has ever been.

 In the darkness, reaching through the thickness of hopelessness, their hands meet, entangled in promise and hope.

The two talk and soon laugh, feeling the comfort of each other's presence that they had so desperately longed for. As they both lay on their backs, Achillies lifts his eyes towards the sea of stars. "We must go back to the world of the living" Achillies says, as he turns his head toward Patroclus. Patroclus can feel the anger rising in his throat, he doesn't want to get angry, but he will. "Why? Don't you know we will lose our memories once we go back? Do you not care enough?" Achilles like he always had been, was short and curt. Achilles remained calm "would you rather we be separated for eternity?" Patroclus frowned as he understood what Achilles had meant, the two would not go into the same afterlife, Patroclus was an exile while Achilles was a war hero, the gods would not condone such a thought of the two being together. Sadness crept into Patroclus's voice "I would rather live eternity remembering you, than live another lifetime forgetting you" he said, before blinking back tears and swallowing the lump in his throat. Achilles laughed, the corners of his mouth lifting and his eyes curving into crescent moons as he says, both honestly and confidently "I would never forget you." He had always been like this, Patroclus both loved and hated this part of him. Patroclus turned his head away from Achilles, how could he not believe Achilles, when he was like this?

Achilles had defeated the Cerberus, once swift and precise movement sharp and concise. The dog fell, unsettling the grains of sand, and simply did not arise. Now, Patroclus and Achilles were running past the river and to the land of the living. Their journey was tiring and filled with hundreds of emotions. As the two reach the end of the river, they exchange glances and wonder what this will lead to. As Achilles take a step forward, Patroclus grabs his hand and embraces him breathing him in, wondering if they will meet again. Achilles hugs Patroclus their hands entwined as they pass the river. In the split of a second, light spills in, like a flood of a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.

I often have dreams. I dream of a boy with hair, a dazzling blond, and eyes as fresh as leaves in spring. He looks at me and smiles. Sometimes he plays the lyre, sometimes he moves his body in a foreign rhythm, as he dances with his sword. Other times we play together, racing each other, caught in the moment of our smiles and laugh.

The bustling movement of the city wakes me up as I walk out of the train and towards a tiring day at work. The movements of the people and cars is very off-putting I would rather move to the countryside. My hand grips at my coffee as I fasten my pace with every ticking second. As my pace fastens, my eyes meet the eyes of a beautiful man, his hair a dazzling blond with locks that lick to his forehead, yet most remarkable were his eyes. His eyes were a green, as fresh as leaves in spring. The man smiles at me, the corners of his both lifting and his eyes curving into crescent moons as he mouths something to me that I can't quite register.