Disclaimer: Who owns Greek Mythology, anyways? Who owns the Trojan War?
This is a rewrite of something I wrote in sixth grade. The first paragraph is the first paragraph of the original, as are other snippets in it. The rest is all me right now.
You know when you feel that something horrible's about to happen, and everyone's laughing and pretending it's all fine? Every second is elongated, stretched out, the ignorant smiles and laughter stretched out, a drawn out screech of a fingernail runnning across a piece of slate. Your mind is racing, you are in panic, in pain. There is no one to turn to, no one understands. And you want to scream so badly.
They say ignorance is bliss. And I, for one, believe them. For when you know, their ignorance causes you pain. And their tendency to cling on to that ignorance for as long as possible. They will not listen. Knowledge is pain. Knowledge is pain.
I cannot let the scream be voiced, because if it is, there is no stopping it. I know what they will whisper as I run past, screaming the truth to the world. "There goes Cassandra, the mad princess. Priam should really lock her away. She is too wild to be free." The madness overtakes me, once I let the scream out.
As Helen flitted about the room, smooth and graceful, all falling for her facade, not seeing the obvious venomous smile hidden behind the mask of her golden beauty, every second was elongated. The smiles were torture to me. My head throbbed. The fiend angelical came closer to me, with Paris close at her side. Even he did not realize what she was. He was a firebrand, but she was the flammable oil that was spreading across Troy. She let the fire spread.
"And who is this?" she murmured, her voice like a river of honey, flowing slowly and smoothly across the plains, freezing our soldiers in their place.
My head throbbed even more. I clutched it in pain. I clenched my teeth together. I ran my fingers through my ebony locks in a mad attempt to stop the scream. Let go of it all, Cassandra, a voice inside me teased. Let the world know.
I would not be believed, though, I knew. And the madness would take over me again. I could not allow that.
"This is Cassandra, my younger sister," Paris said, running his fingers through Helen's golden ringlets gently, while glaring at me.
I gnashed my teeth, ground my heel into the stone floor.
"She's a priestess of Apollo," Paris mentioned.
Apolo! Apollo, why?! Why have you cursed me with this knowledge, and the madness that comes with it? Why must no one believe me?
I sank to my knees.
I heard Helen whisper, "What's wrong with her?"
"She's completely mad. She keeps talking about a firebrand, and Troy's destruction. She hates me, and she freaks out whenever she sees a horse," Paris whispered, not caring whether or not I heard.
Helen's eyes widened. She squatted down beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. She whispered into my ear, so soft that no one but me heard it, "Cassandra, how--"
I couldn't take it anymore. I screamed.