Creative Writing

Patroclus & Achilles

Patroclus' POV:

How did he become like this?

My fondest memories of him were when we were all but children. When we would eat figs together, when Achilles would teach me how to play the lyre, how he would let me touch his perfect instrument. How we would run away from Achilles' responsibilities as the Prince of Phthia. How we would fool around when we were under the supervision of Chiron, the centaur who had taught many heroes before.

The Trojan War has changed him. Achilles has become ruthless. All Achilles cares for now is kleos, he cares for this glory that all Greek heroes eventually get.

I recall how Achilles would caress my face, how he would be so gentle and timid when we held hands, how he would play with my fingers and how he would take in every part of me as much as he could.

Now Achilles' hands were stained with the blood of other people. Of people who may have been innocent and were simply fighting for their city. Every time he returns back from battle and we meet in our tent, all I see is blood and a huge smile on his face.

I would like for Achilles to return back to the man he once was. The man who gently strummed the strings of his lyre and sung songs for me and would watch as the sun would set, hand-in-hand with me.

I don't want to like the man he has become.

Yet I cannot help it.

This viscous man he has become, I can't help but still love him. He's cruel to others, he is much cruel to others who aren't me. I can't help but wish that, hope that, he will return back to be the man he once was. To be the man who dreamed of being the first hero without a tragic ending. Deep down, I know that will not happen.

Yet I cannot help it.

His soft voice has been replaced by the loud screams and cheers when they have won another battle, when he has returned alive, or even before a battle has begun.

His eyes which had such a gentle gaze which has now turned into a glare.

When he returns back to our tent, he begins to boast about the battle and how it went.
'People cheered for me, calling out my name!'

You hated it when people wanted your attention, when they cheered for you back in Phthia. You only cared for my attention, no one else's.

I bit my tongue though, not daring to bring Achilles' mood down. I simply gave him a soft smile and praised him.
'Yes, I noticed how well you fought. Well done.'

Achilles either did not notice how I did not sound as enthusiastic as he did or he simply decided to ignore my tone and continue to boast of his success.

I did not sleep well. Whenever he noticed that I was awake, he would wrap his arms around me and hold me close to him. I'd fiddle with his rough fingers, but it did not put me at ease. All I could think about was the amount of people who had died at these hands that were holding me so gingerly. I used to fall asleep at ease when he held me, when we were training together and all we had was each other. Though now, I don't get an ounce of sleep. I shut my eyes and open them when Achilles stirs.

I just want the kind man I love to come back. Yet, I know he will not return, not for a long time.

Especially after what I decided to do next.

I suddenly understood the thrill of people cheering you on as you ruthlessly killed the enemies, throwing spears at them and piercing them through their bodies. But it did not soothe my anxiety as I continued to take on this role. I tried to appear as Achilles always would during battle. The fellow warriors, my comrades, they all cheered for me.

Well, they cheered for Achilles.

I don't understand why I thought this would be a good idea. I simply did not want Achilles to get harmed, to die, but I never thought about what would happen if I were to be harmed, if I were to die.

It happened, though I never thought about it, it had happened.

I felt it.

The sharp pain. The spear pierced through my own stomach and I stumbled. I felt myself fall forward and I clutched my stomach, I felt how the blood gushed out, how it soaked my clothing. Achilles' armour.

At least the man I love still had the opportunity to live and win this war.

At least Achilles could still live to be one of the greatest heroes.

Achilles' POV:

Why would the Fates take him away from me?

What possibly could possess them to have thought that it would have been a good idea to be rid of the only man I have ever loved, the only man who has ever brought me peace and has known me for years. The man who was always there for me and cared for me deeply.

I clutched his soulless body, holding him in my arms. I felt the tears streaming down my face, my eyes felt sore. I don't know how long I have been crying, how long I have been sitting here, holding my dead lover dressed in my clothing covered in his blood.

The only thing I did know was that someone had to pay for this. I had to get back at Hector for murdering my love.

His perfect skin, his wonderfully curly dark locks, his well-formed features of his face and body, was now ruined, all because of Hector. His skin looked paler, he felt cold in my arms, but I desperately wanted to convince myself that he would warm up in my arms, in my hold.

I did not understand why the Fates would not allow me to be a hero with a happy fate. I wanted my glory, yes, I so desperately wanted my glory, but that greedy feeling of wanting my glory completely made me forget the other thing I desperately have always wanted. To be with my Patroclus. To feel his hands tenderly hold my face, to see his smile, to see his eyes shine as they always would when he would see my face, especially when I returned from yet another battle, still alive and well. I miss everything about him.

I should've told Patroclus to not go along with his plan. I should've held him longer, I should've kissed him much more. I should have savoured him more than I did not during this terrible, terrible Trojan War.

If I did not let Patroclus go, I would have likely died in his place. I would have preferred it that way. That way, Patroclus could find a lover who was much better suited for him, a person who would have treated him better than I did during these dark times.

I stared down at Patroclus' face. He was still and remained freezing in my arms. I felt the tears well up in my eyes again.

Why must the Fates be so cruel?

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Word count: 1223