I am not the great Alexander. Those who gather round me cry that I am. But I know better than that.
The great Alexander would not feel this weak, would not be flinching at this unbearable pain as it ripped through his limbs like lightning. The great Alexander is a warrior...a king...the Son of Zeus. I am none of these. I am only a man. And I ache...oh, how I ache. I feel as though my chest is being chiseled in two and my head feels as if it is suffering the blows of a tribal drum. I see red as my eyes fill with blood. I cannot talk. I can barely breath. Each breath feels like a knife being plunged deep into my side, then twisted with brute and barbaric force. The Son of Zeus would not feel such agony.
The great Alexander opened the gates of the world to the Macedonian people. The great Alexander conquered the world, defeated tyrannous kings in the name of the Gods and rewarded his people with their bounty. He would be able to conquer death as it beckoned him...I cannot.
The great Alexander would have been able to save the life of the only person he ever truly loved...the only person who ever sincerely loved him. The great Alexander would have plucked Hephaestion from Hades' grasp and would have shown him Olympus. But I? I let him die.
I am not Alexander the Great. I am but a man...and I am dying.