I sit beside the body. The body of a man I had killed not hours before, killed for revenge at the death of my cousin. Killed because I could not find any other way to let go of my grief. This man I had killed he was a brother, son, cousin, husband, father and yet beneath it all he was a killer. But if he was one what does that make me? I killed men without even batting an eyelash, never once thinking about the wives and families back home that would never see them again. Killing was my talent and my curse. I have seen countless men die and mourned few of their deaths but now with my dear Patroclus gone I feel an emptiness inside that had never been there before. He was more than my cousin, a kind of brother who I had raised alone when his parents left this world. I had taught him everything I knew about war, love and life. He had been too young to die, not even seventeen yet and this dead man beside me now had taken those years from him. But why do I weep for this man, this killer, he should mean nothing to me but he does. He is one man, but he represents all the lives I have taken and those numbers go beyond what I can count. If only there had been another way, another way to settle the score without taking his life I would have done it. Would have done it for Briese, would have done anything for her but my rage consumes me, takes hold of me so strongly that I cannot see straight. It is the same with all my emotions, a result of my being half god, another disguised curse I carry on my conscious. What had I done to ask for this "gift", what I had I done for the gods to choose me? Why did any man I go against have the same fate of meeting the boatman? When would I myself join them, who was destined to be the killer of the great Achilles? As I sit here in the sand with nothing but my empty thoughts, tears and a dead man I wonder how long it will be before I fall. I have a choice right now to make, to give this dead man back to his father, to his country and to his wife who I know mourns his death as much as I mourn Patroclus'. This man beside me is the cousin of my lover, how can I ever look at her again without feeling the shame of what I have done? He was her temple, he rock in a stormy sea, she had told me countless stories of his devotion to her and his brother and how good of a man he was. She even told me she saw a bit of him in me and now as I think of this my grief takes hold once again. I am on my knees begging the gods and this dead man to forgive me. I, a man who kneels to no one am now kneeling to the corpse of my cousin's killer. But he did not kill my cousin as a way to get to me; he killed my cousin because he mistook him for me. What great honor could Patroclus have asked for? None I believe. So I am not just weeping for a dead man, a family man, a killer. I am weeping for a prince, a prince of Troy, my enemy. I am weeping for Hector.