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Jack Rusher
La vie est faite de morceaux qui ne se joignent pas.

Friends

    wearing stellar
    Drawing a metal stylus back and forth in boustrophedon fashion over
woven paper, he wrote to himself and for himself:


  Of chariots and spears, of gods and wars, I want no more.
  
  Patroklos, my surrogate brother and only true friend, is dead, and
  his
  death avenged. Briseis, my future bride, has been returned to me by
  that treacherous bastard Agamemnon. My wrath has cooled and there is
  nothing more for me here.
  
  We shall make a quiet life running a farm — olives, vines, some sheep
  — nestled on a sleepy island. Briseis and I will raise a family, and
  my armor and my weapons will rest safely beyond use.
  
  They will, in time, forget the name of Peleiades’ son, and for the
  first time in my life that prospect pleases me. Whatever happens,
  this will be my final day at Troy.


And, with that, he strode from his tent, mounted his chariot, and rode
into battle. When Paris’ arrow struck his heel it seemed a small
thing, but the bleeding never stopped. Achilles left Troy in the same
urn as Patroklos, his wife and his armor parceled out to other
warriors.

IMAGE: Death of Achilles, Innocenzo Fraccaroli, 1805-1888.

    Drawing a metal stylus back and forth in boustrophedon fashion over woven paper, he wrote to himself and for himself:

    Of chariots and spears, of gods and wars, I want no more.

    Patroklos, my surrogate brother and only true friend, is dead, and his death avenged. Briseis, my future bride, has been returned to me by that treacherous bastard Agamemnon. My wrath has cooled and there is nothing more for me here.

    We shall make a quiet life running a farm — olives, vines, some sheep — nestled on a sleepy island. Briseis and I will raise a family, and my armor and my weapons will rest safely beyond use.

    They will, in time, forget the name of Peleiades’ son, and for the first time in my life that prospect pleases me. Whatever happens, this will be my final day at Troy.

    And, with that, he strode from his tent, mounted his chariot, and rode into battle. When Paris’ arrow struck his heel it seemed a small thing, but the bleeding never stopped. Achilles left Troy in the same urn as Patroklos, his wife and his armor parceled out to other warriors.

    IMAGE: Death of Achilles, Innocenzo Fraccaroli, 1805-1888.

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