STARTER

STARTER

Odysseus laid in the bed that his wife used to sleep in, carved into the olive tree with his bare hands. Small specks of water seemed to be left over from the pillow he rested his head upon.

He was tired. Not from work or fatigue, although he tried his best to activity-fill his day so he could rid his mind of the worries that filled his head, but from the stress of it all, his wife leaving him suddenly after only a week of him being home for another man that was supposed to be him. He felt like he wasn't good enough.

And after the argument about the infant, who could really blame him? He wasn't quite pleased with himself; and who would ever be? He was a monster. If Penelope was pushing everything aside just for this other him, then maybe really he was just inferior.

He didn't feel like getting up. But what other choice did he have? The Fates and the Gods watched over him, almost ridiculing his every action from afar.

How could he live with himself?

He was a monster.

@young-prince-telemachus @owl-of-wisdom @live-inthe-madness @fishcake-anon @lady-hearth-and-home (let me know if you wanna be tagged!)