The Personal Journal of Odysseus

The Cattle of the Sun God

February 19, 1171 B.C.

          Coasting the noble island of the god Helios, lord of noon, where there grazed his famous favored cattle and sheep. Through the sheep bleating and the cattle rustling, I heard the low echoing of the blind Teiesias of Thebes and Circe of Aeaea’s warning words that forbade me to land. Their wise advice, it could be the decision between life and death if I followed or not followed it. I will. I can not risk anymore.

          I urge my men, “Bypass Thrinakia, land of the sun god. It is not worth the adversity that will fall if we interfere, I have been told. We must continue.”

          “Tired and wary, we can not continue great Odysseus. For can we not stop to rest, to rest and rid ourselves of the disturbing images the Scylla has forced upon us? To move on and land, we must,” insisted many of my men.

          I can hear the pained screaming of the six men, I had just lost, surround me.

          “Odysseus! Odysseus! Do something! Help!” they had screamed in agony, being ripped to shreds.

          I can see the blood spilling into the thrashing waves and detached limbs, tattered and lifeless, flashing before my eyes.

          I was the cause of that. My decision, alone, was the one to kill them so brutally. They didn’t know what was coming; I didn’t say anything. This is to be the worst challenge of this journey, knowing I killed my friends and having to live with the grief. My crew was forced to watch their friends die before them, yet the faithful men stood by my order. I had made them suffer more than anyone could imagine. I am not weak; I am ashamed and grieving; so I give in.

          I muster the crew, “The fierce god, who rides high heaven, cherishes these here heifers and sheep. The cattle and sheep are not for us. Our ship holds our own food and wine. Do not touch the cattle or we will pay dearly for it.” It is my duty to make sure they understand.

          The men nodded their agreement as we take off to the sanded floors of Thrinakia.

          Our red wine and bread quickly vanishes. Hunger drives the fighters to whatever falls in their hands. Zeus drives clouds to shred land and sea; storms plowing through. We can not leave. How are we supposed to leave? How could we return back to the journey home? Will the Gods help me?

          I isolated myself to pray in solitude, needing guidance of salvation. I had to return to my family, as all the men did. My darling wife and strong, little boy needed me. Humbling requesting help from the mighty gods, they give me an answer by casting me away in a deep drop of sleep.

          As my slumber vanishes, my mind turning, eyes observing, I went down the seaway to the healthy, green, grazed grass where the cattle lay when a tasteful odor stops me. The festive odor of burnt fat filled the air around me. O, this day of mischief I have slept away! Why me!? The cruel drowsing Father Zeus and the gods have bestowed upon me, making me sleep away in grief as my fighters’ contrived great work here today! Yet, I slumbered!

          The sky becomes blue and cloudless. We set sail quickly, in case Zeus changes his mind. Sailing many miles away from the island of the god of high noon, I praise my men fondly for the mischievous day. That is, until the fair warning returns to throb in my head. What did I do!?

          A great wind shakes the world, leading us to dark, angry clouds. The striking, black clouds shout and the sky begins to cry and sob. The ship is being tossed and turned ever so violently. A thunderbolt, from none other than Zeus, strikes the boat as I would have stuck a target using my bow and arrow; it hits dead-on, destroys the ship to toothpicks floating at sea. Is this the restitution we pay? Is this what I have led my crew into? They deserved a better captain, a stronger and smarter leader; someone who listened and takes advice when it is needed. I was causing misfortune to us all. I ignored the warning that I was given, not once, but twice! How could I have? How did I miss the sign!?

          We all struggle to stay afloat. Their yelling begins to fade and fade and fade. I can not hear anything besides the waves of the hard ocean ricocheting off cliff sides and wood, trying to drown me, pulling me under.  Am I the last one to survive? I killed them, I failed again. But, this must be the end. I must be almost home, I must be. I am truly the only one to live to the end of this journey. It was foretold and so it must happen.  I couldn’t fight to save them across fate. No person, including I, could not beat The Fates.

          Barely breathing, nearly drowning, I push myself to an island. I, the last survivor, crawling out of the violet ocean onto damp sand, and there, I lay.