Creative Piece:

Prompt: Choose a character from one of our texts and write a letter (3-4 pages) to another character in which you describe the events of your passage from your chosen character’s point of view. Think carefully about the character whom you choose to impersonate—and about the character who receives your letter. Your creative piece should give readers a new insight and/or perspective about what is happening in the passage that you have chosen. 

Original Creative Piece by Benjamin Rodriguez:

The following manuscript was found in a sea cave in the Aegean Sea near Sicily in a large find featuring human remains from the 15th century BC and, curiously, several incomplete plesiosaur skeletons.

I

We left Troy victorious today. The frowning walls which had proved our obstacle for 10 years lie in ruins. Good riddance to them! It was satisfying, watching the place burn. I’ve managed to earn a spot as first mate of Odysseus’s ship. The man of the hour suggested I write down my experience of the journey home and any adventures we might come across. Adventure and glory are never far from Odysseus, so I imagine these pages will be filled by our additional exploits by the time we reach Ithaca. The question will be how many activities can we fit in the span of a week? Perhaps I can get a bard to commit our voyage to song if it’s eventful enough. The wind is good today.

III

So soon has adventure befallen us, but it’s not the proud kind. We came upon a small settlement and, hoping to build upon the success we all felt after sacking Troy, Odysseus gave the order for a repeat performance here. I wasn’t a part of the advance fleet—I was going to manage the division of the loot—so I was not there for the sudden and devastating counterattack. We lost enough men that each ship now has 6 empty seats. No-one I knew, but the loss weighs on us all. Odysseus looks especially stormy. The war is over; we should have stopped dying. 

XIV

Though these words follow so closely on the heels of their antecedents, our spirits are far from the victorious peak they were when those words were committed to this paper. 11 days of constant storming, fighting, straining against a stubborn wind. Even us grizzled veterans are showing their fatigue. I’d hoped to be able to sneak away from the bench to write more, but even my position as 2nd in command hasn’t granted me that honor. Only Odysseus gets to avoid the hours of fighting with Poseidon down in the hold. We’ve finally had to stop and resupply at a small island. Odysseus led a contingent to gather fresh water and food. I have begun to regret the hopes for adventure I expressed when we left for Ithaca. Nothing stirs my heart to push onward like hope of home. 

We were fighting men at Troy, not magic. The man who sits ahead of me is dead, or his mind is dead at least. We had to tie him and most of the boarding crew down to their benches just to stop them from jumping overboard. I don’t know what happened on that island—our fearless general is keeping mum about that—but I know that when we get back to Ithaca seven wives will be greeting dull-eyed husks instead of husbands. They won’t row, so the rest of us have to row all the harder. The thought of untying these unfortunates in the night has crossed my mind a few times. 

XVII

I ought to feel grateful. I ought to be praising the gods that we escaped the cyclops. As much as I want to be thankful that we lost as few as we did to that monster, all I can hear are Odysseus’s boasts repeating in my head. All I see is his beckoning towards that cave. That cave I will never forget until the end of my days. Why? We had the supplies we needed. It was just a crag in the rock, nothing special or enticing about it. Even so, Odysseus, Legend of Troy, just had to plumb its depths and because of him six good men are dead—no—eaten. He gets us out by the skin of our teeth and then he PROVOKES it? We nearly were scuppered on the rocks thanks to our general’s vanity. Future generations are lucky that I’m able to write through my rage. At least the wind is at our backs so we don’t have to row.

XXIV

The gods hate us. It’s now twenty-four days into our weeklong journey home and I feel just about ready to kill someone. I could see Ithaca when all of a sudden, I nearly fall off the boat as some hurricane blasts us back to Mr. Hero King’s friend. It was the crew’s fault, ostensibly, but I have started to think this fleet is cursed. Now it’s back to rowing again. My body has been toughened more by this journey then a year’s fighting at Troy. At least there are no shortage of islands in this labyrinthine sea.

XXVI

Fish in a barrel. Whose idea was it to moor in that death-trap of a harbor valley? I’ll tell you who. Who else but our resident living legend? Now, it’s just our ship left. We started with twelve ships. We started with a victorious spirit. Why now do our endeavors turn against us? The war is over; we should have stopped fighting weeks ago. We’ve not stopped fighting, be it fighting the sea, or giants, or cyclopses, or who knows what else. I envy those who died before we could set out on this cursed slog through the seas. They never had to know the pain of watching a friend eaten and regurgitated. They never smelled the bread of one’s homeland and then were yanked halfway across the world in an instant. There isn’t any wind, but no-one is rowing. I don’t blame them. Even Odysseus is crying. Serves him right for cursing us all.

XXXII

We’ve sighted an island and I’ve drawn the short straw. I fully expect this to be my last entry in this record. I hear the calls of the landing party now. Goodbye.

More cursed magical misfortune, but I’ve escaped with my life. I begged Odysseus to cut our losses and leave this bewitched cay, but he and his general’s pride rushed in anyways. I’ll get the remainder of the crew ready to set sail. We’ll be on our way home come daybreak and, without that blight among us, maybe we’ll actually make it.

???

I was blind but no longer. When the spring rains fell and I realized we’d languished here for a year I came to my senses. After the better part of a month trying to round people up, I’ve gotten some of the men together to beg to Odysseus to let us leave this island. 

??? + III

We have been places no mortal should ever go. I’m still not certain that we really sojourned in Hades. It seems, thanks to Odysseus and his consort, that we finally have a plan to get home.

I don’t know if I can follow it. He has a plan, he has warnings, but all I see is how he pushes the envelope time after time and gets us killed. Over this year, I have reflected. That man is why we lost men to the Cyclops, to the giants, why we were blown so far off course. That man is why we have taken a year to make a week’s journey! The war is over! If I could strike out on my own, I would. Here he comes now from an audience with his year-long distraction. 

The mission is suicide, but it’s all or nothing. It’s my only choice. Whether I die or make it home, this memoir needs no more chapters. I am done with Odysseus and chronicling his folly. I’ll be handing it off to a crewmate as soon as I finish this entry, maybe he can finish it.