A/N: Another fanfic! Wow. I'm really starting to get into this... What sucks is that I really should be studying for midterms.... Screw my life. TT^TT
One Out of Twelve
The day after my seventeenth birthday, I was murdered along with eleven of my friends.
The reason?
I fell in love with a man who was weak and selfish.
I knew. I knew Odysseus was out there somewhere, trying to get back home. I knew that he would return and then let loose his rage at finding his home crawling with young men asking his wife's hand in marriage. I knew that then, the gods' anger would doom us all.
But would he listen? No. He would make that carefree chuckle, pat my hand, and proceeded to tease me about how paranoia isn't attractive in a lady.
The fool.
Of course, I was more the fool for not pushing him, forcing him to at least escape by himself, regardless of my own safety. It wasn't as if we'd even find peace with one another, being polar opposites on the cruel scale of society. His ranking as a nobleman with my slave's status would allow us to be master and prostitute at the very best.
Even then, he'd have to pick a pretty, rich lady to become his wife, shoving me to the side for appearance's sake. Perhaps he could have broken through the bindings that were attached with his rank, but the easy life of a rich man was too great a loss for a mere girl. Of course, he never said it aloud, but anyone could have figured it out.
He wanted to keep me by his side as his lover, even though the rest of the world would only see me as his slut, his personal whore. People already saw me as such.
Serving girls would whisper and exchange giggles and cruel words whenever I walked pass them. Eurycleia, the old busybody, would click her tongue and glare in my direction whenever she could.
Even Penelope, sweet mistress Penelope, would look at me with disappointment in her clear, grey eyes.
Finally, driven almost to madness by the treatment of the others, I rushed into Melantho's arms, the only ones who would comfort me, tainted with filthy rumors as I was. Soon, we became friends, even though she was quick to hurt others and a bit sadistic. Ten others soon joined our little group, shunned by the rest of the household for their closeness to the suitors.
Quickly, we were then known as Melantho's group, the pretty whores who would let anyone between our legs. But they were all lies. No one comforted us when we were hurt or saddened. No one took pity and gave a kind word. No one stood up for our mistreatment. So what else could we do but lash back? Melantho could never take on an insult lying down.
Of course, Odysseus saw this as an act of disloyalty. He would. Everyone else already saw it that way. So after he hacked apart the young men with only three other men, he ordered us, the twelve bitches, to clean up the carnage and wipe away the blood.
Odysseus just stood there, a smug expression on his bearded face as one by one, we found out loved ones and wept. My own lover was beheaded, his face no longer cheerful and bright, but horrible and mangled.
Finally, just I knew would happen the second Odysseus returned, we were marched outside. The master wanted our limbs chopped and hacked off, but Telemachus, the sweet boy with rosy cheeks, offered to hang us instead. No rest for our disgraceful selves in the afterworld. And so my body swings in time with the North Wind as it blows the cold air pass my master's house.
I merely watch from the other side of the Styx River, soul forever barred from peaceful slumber.
A/N: Well that was depressing. It seems I'm starting to get into angst... Uy vay.
You know what I want.
Read & Review!