by Paris, Sevan
Helen gave Paris a shove, and he fell onto the ground, letting go of her arm. "Know this, son of Troy, I may have been left in your care--pitiful as it may be--but that does not mean you will disrespect, abuse, or even look at me in a manner I find in any way displeasing, or Zeus take me..."
Helen trailed off as she noticed Paris's eyes grow round with fear. She knew she had a presence about her, but there was no way in Hades she should have been able to get that type of reaction out of man on her most frightening day, even half a man, like Paris.
Slowly, she turned to see the origin of Paris' latest found fear.
Achilles.
The Grecian made no attempt to hurry. He didn't have to. Achilles could have them both killed and gutted before Helen even had the opportunity to take a breath.
Unconsciously, Helen took a step back and pointed a trembling finger. "Achilles, you and my bastard of a husband may have owned me in life! But as sure as the sun shall rise, as sure as the heavens cast its nightly blanket over all that is, as sure as the beard of Zeus itself, you shall not take me in death! My soul will live on, even from the depths of Hades, I will smite you with words laced with venom! I shall curse you as only a ghost can curse! I will make your hair turn white with fear, your body turn soft from lethargy, and your manhood fall from disease! Curse you, Achilles! Curse you!"
Helen waited, an eternity it seemed, for the descendent of Zeus to elicit some sort of response. When one did not seem forthcoming--she almost started another string of curses until at last...he spoke.
"I'm so tired."
Helen fluttered her eyelids in response. Somewhere down the tunnel, she could hear Paris fumbling through the darkness, trying to escape with his cowardly life.
"Come again?" she said.
He sat down, dropped his sword, and looked at the ground. Trojan blood puddled around him. "Tired. Gods, I am--so--tired. The talking, the fighting, the learning, the loving--none of it's of our own volition." He looked at her. "Were you aware of that?"
Run, Helen thought. His thoughts have been stricken by disease. Run now, while you can. Before he becomes lucid, before he realizes he is here to kill you. before he--
"It's the gods. We do--what they want us to do, we think how they want us to think, we kill who they want us to kill, and we bed who they want us to bed. None of it--not one single bit--is left up to us. And do you know why?"
Helen decided not to tempt fate any longer. She took a step back. Run! Woman, run! Turn your body, move your legs and run! He will kill you! He will--
"Because it's the only way they can be entertained. The best stories, to them anyway, are the ones that have a predictable ending. And that's what we are...one big damned predictable ending."
Helen needed no further encouragement. She turned to run, but the iron grip of Achilles latched on to her ankle. Her jerked her leg down with one hand and seized her throat with the other.
"It's time for it to end. The senseless struggle, the futile sacrifices, the unquestioning faith in those who most surely deserve questioning. It has to end...it will end, and I shall end it!" His grip tightened and she lost all ability to breathe.
The look in the Trojan's eyes was that of a madman. She was almost positive he wasn't even talking to her anymore. In fact, if it hadn't been for his grip, he might have forgotten about her completely.
"Do you comprehend what I am saying, wench?"
Or, then again, maybe not.
No, I don't comprehend what you are saying, you twit! Now, release me this instant! Do you hear me?! Release me this very instant! Unfortunately for Helen, all that escaped her mouth was a type of guttural sound.
"What I am saying is that it all must end, and I, Achilles, shall be the one to end it!" his voice boomed through the cave. "No more gods, no more wars for war's sake, and--most importantly--no more influence over man! From now on, we make our own decisions! If another ten-year war is to be fought, then I shall make damn sure that it is fought because of us, not them!"
Helen saw spots in her vision. She felt a trace of spittle run down the side of her cheek as her legs started to give out from under her. Achilles' iron grip around her throat was the only thing preventing her from falling to the ground.
"It all ends now ..."
Helen's neck broke with a loud crack.
~ * ~
Achilles stood there for a moment, staring at the corpse of the last Titan. His hands still rested on her neck and heel. This...this is choice. This is--
Startled by a whistling sound, Achilles turned his head away from the Helen's beautiful corpse. He saw nothing in either direction of the cavern, but then he felt something.
Pain, lots and lots of pain.
Achilles looked down at his chest and dispassionately stared at the arrow sticking out of it. After staring at it for several seconds, he fell to the ground. Through the darkness, he could hear the sound of a frail man carefully making his way through the cave.
"I did it!" Paris screamed as he danced around Achilles, thrusting his bow up and down in the air. "I slew Achilles! Me! No one else but me! I will be remembered forever and always!"
He stepped over Helen's perfect corpse, closer to Achilles.
"Songs will be su--"
Achilles's hand shot out like a striking snake and latched onto the weakling's ankle. Paris let out a yelp before Achilles pulled the boy to him. The two were face to face.
"Yes, cowardly Paris, songs will be sung, paintings will even be painted." Achilles clamped his massive hand around Paris' feeble throat. The young prince gasped for air. The Grecian could feel his life draining out of him through the wound Paris had delivered. No, that's not right, he thought, I can feel BOTH of our lives draining away. This will be it. The all to end all. My life is taken, and with it--Paris gasped for air once more--all godly influence. Each shall be left to their own, and all shall be left to none.
Shortly after Paris's life left his body, the light of Achilles followed.
Somewhere on Mt. Olympus the gods screamed.
BOOK TWO
THREE THOUSAND YEARS AND SOME CHANGE LATER...
"Fuck this shit," Cupid shrilled.
He scratched the back of his bald head even though it wasn't itching. Why did he have to come all the way out here in the middle of Nowhereville, Tennessee to check into this?
Because you were told to, you pathetic shit.
Cupid hung his head. He was pathetic. He had been for over two thousand years. One, four and a half foot tall, trench coat wearing, pissed off, pathetic creature.
He pulled on the gold collar around his neck. God help him, it felt tighter every century and the heat sure didn't help. Things had to get better. Things would get better.
That's why he was here.
Many subdivisions dotted the map of McMinn, Tennessee. The particular subdivision his "employer" sent him to was a ritzy one, catering to middle class families that spent too much money or upper class families that, according to some, didn't spend enough.
Cupid furiously unfolded the piece of paper he'd been carrying since leaving L.A., ripping it in a few places as he did so. The sun reflected off the paper's white surface, forcing him to squint. "Nine six...five Belmont Avenue. Or is it a three?" He sighed. "Jesus fucking Christ. Is it too much to ask for a person to cinch up her shitty-ass writing long enough to write legibly?" Cupid shoved the piece of paper back into his pocket.
He eyeballed the nearest house. He had to do something pretty damn soon. He didn't exactly blend into the neighborhood.
Fuck it. I'll check'em both then go to the next one. Six-three was right in front of him, so he decided to do it first.
He walked up the driveway. I mean why me, y'know? I'm getting so tired of this. It's like every other day I have to do this shit. He stopped at the door and rang the doorbell. And you know what? She has a hundred, no--two hundred people she could send. But no! Always me. Always! It just isn't fucking fair!
I mean it's like she doesn't even
give a goddamn about the way I feel. He rang the doorbell again. Is it too much to ask? Just once before she gives me one of these assignments, she could ask, "Cupid, do you feel like going out in the hot-ass sun today for another wild goose chase? I know it's tedious, and I know it's beneath you, but do you mind?" But does she ask that? No, she doesn't. She doesn't fucking respect me is why. A trained monkey could do this! A trained monkey!
The door opened right as Cupid felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.
"Can I help you?" a teenager standing in the ridiculously expensive doorway asked. His age looked to be around sixteen.
"Mark Gallaway?" Cupid asked in a bored voice.
The teenager raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
Kew pulled a shotgun from under his trench coat and blew Mark's head off.
BOOK THREE
THE TOTALLY AWESOME ASS
The Story Begins Here.
Those were the words Alex Anderson read of the tiny sign decorating the harsh baby blue wall of the Parthenon Museum in Nashville, Tennessee. He stared at the area for a few seconds, though it admittedly was not because of the sign, but rather the person standing next to the sign. Actually, it was the ass of the person standing next to the sign: Helen DeTroy.
Alex never studied a lot about Greek sculptures; hell, he never studied anything really--ever. But he did know any artist studying Greek sculptures should instead study classmate Helen DeTroy's ass; her totally awesome ass, that is.
Alex's overweight and consistently nervous eleventh grade English teacher, Mr. Blankenship, walked up behind him and the rest of the class that was impatiently awaiting his return.
Once they had learned of the field trip, Alex's class went ape-shit. The chance to leave the prison-like confines of Athens Central High School was not to be taken lightly. They were excited. Really excited. So excited Mr. Blankenship considered canceling the trip for fear of not being able to control his class of thirty-two students.
To keep the trip from being cancelled, students offered the aid of parents who, not surprisingly, were not aware their aid was being offered. Blankenship agreed to proceed with the trip as planned if five adult chaperones came along. Including Ms. Pryde, Blankenship's student teacher, Alex's fellow students managed to recruit eight.
Since Blankenship learned the field trip was back on, he had been even more of a nervous wreck than usual. The students, and even Ms. Pryde, found a great deal of amusement in the situation.
Mr. Blankenship's three hundred pound frame waddled up. He shuffled several papers from one plump hand to another for no apparent reason. "Alright. Okay, alright, I've got everyone paid for. So let's go up the stairs. Slowly! Slowly, go up the stairs. I don't need a repeat of last year!" He stuck an inhaler between his walrus mustache and took a hit. The inhaler then promptly disappeared underneath several pounds of crotch fat.
Alex maneuvered past Sue Markson and in front of Jodie Mallock. He reached an optimum ass-viewing position right before the entire class proceeded up the stairs. He allowed Helen to gain a few steps on him, putting himself at eyelevel with the glorious denim covered crack.
There were a few snickers emanating from the front of the teenage group. Snickers that, Alex later found out, were a reaction to a fellow classmate tripping on one of the steep steps leading into the museum's main chamber. As the snickering ascended into full-blown laughter, the class stopped walking up the stairway.
Alex didn't.
Alex's face slid straight into Helen's butt-crack. She immediately screamed and jumped up two stairs, bumping Tara Osburn and Mike Fisher out of her way. An incredibly red-faced Helen turned to face Alex.
"God, Alex! What's your problem?"
And the story ends.
"Anderson!" Blankenship yelled, "Front and center!"
Taking a deep breath and slumping his shoulders a little, Alex slowly walked up the stairway to the front of the class. His classmates parted before him like he possessed some sort of magical power or magnificent presence. In reality, they were excited to see someone get in trouble and were just being polite enough to allow their colleagues enough room for a suitable vantage point.
He passed Helen's boyfriend, Augie, who gave Alex a dangerous look. At least, Alex assumed it was a dangerous look. It was hard to tell since Augie's six-foot four-inch height forced most people to stare at his chest. That plus Augie's bright-ass letterman jacket made it hard for Alex to see his face for longer than a brief glance, but the stance was clear: I'm gonna fuck you up later.
Alex finally reached the top of the stairs and Blankenship pulled him to the side. "Why don't you go on without us," he said to Mrs. Ferrel. "This'll just take a minute."
Mrs. Ferrel, the Parthenon's volunteer guide, nodded politely and turned to face the class. "Okay, guys, if you all come this way, we'll get started," she motioned for the class to follow her. The class walked by Alex and Blankenship a bit slower than they needed to.
Blankenship crouched into Alex's personal bubble and tilted his head forward. That was the strange thing about the teacher. He was a consistent, nervous wreck when all of his students were behaving in a manner somewhat approaching appropriate. But when one of them fucked up, the man immediately became--not just cool--but James T. Kirk cool. "Alright, Anderson, what happened?"
Alex shrugged his shoulders and allowed his hair to hang into his eyes. "I bumped into her."
"Bumped...into her?"
Alex nodded. "Yeah--that's all. Bump. Just a little bump. Nothing--nobody meant anything--I mean I didn't mean anything by that." Alex pointed at the stairway.
Blankenship placed his hands on his hips and let a long silence pass between them. He coughed a little.
Alex shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is that all? Are we through? I don't wanna miss the story."
Blankenship stood there for a few moments and finally nodded. "Do us a favor and stop bumping into people, okay?"
"No bump guarantee, right here, Mr. B." Alex slipped past Blankenship. The teacher's rotten meat smell filled his nostrils and escaped through his mouth. Fighting the urge to puke, he stepped into the Parthenon's main chamber.
And saw the fifty-foot statue of Athena.
It was huge. God, it was huge. Gold armor covered her ivory skin. A spear leaned against the goddess's right side. She held a massive shield in one hand and a person holding a wreathe in the other.
"...originaly built in Athens, Greece around four fifty BC." Ferrel's voice echoed through the chamber. The class was arranged in a semi-circle with her at the center. "From all of the archeological evidence we've managed to gather, this is a very close approximation of the maiden found therein. Notice I said 'maiden,'" she smiled. "Parthenon literally means 'House of the Maiden' in Greek. The real Parthenon was built by the Athenians for the express purpose of housing the statue of Athena, a statue they built as a thank you to her for helping them defeat the Persian army years before."
Most of the students were either genuinely interested in what the guide had to say or at least did a halfway decent job of faking it. Others such as Jenny, Jenny, and Jenny, three of Alex's classmates who had the ironic fortune of being close friends, stood near the back of the circle and were giggling while taking pictures of one another in amusing poses. Blankenship huffed over to them and put an immediate stop to it.
Over to Alex's right, George Carles simulated oral sex on the crotch of a statue. His buddies found it amusing until Blankenship gave the three of them detention.
Alex decided to stay at the rear of the circle until he saw Augie making his way over. Alex immediately made his way to the front. He wondered how long Augie would be upset about the whole thing, then started wondering what he was going to have for lunch, followed by some more inappropriate musings of Helen.
Ferrel rattled on for a few more minutes then led the class into the next chamber. Alex started to follow but became caught up in Athena's glare.
He wondered what it must have been like all those years ago. Build
ing such a massive something from nothing. They had no tools--not what Alex would call tools anyway. Just rocks and chisels and, stuff. How could they do it? How the hell could they do it? I have electricity and I couldn't even do it. Electricity. I wonder if Helen ever uses a vibrator.
"Hey fuckwad!"
Alex turned around in time to see a curled up fist moments before it hit him in the face.
Hard.
He fell to the tile floor and looked at his attacker, Augie Canay.
Augie pointed a trembling finger at Alex. "Stay away from her. You hear me? You stay the fuck away!"
