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they come at me running, but I’m in no rush.
I have nowhere to go, no one to protect.
if they cannot kill me, I’ll kill them all.
as I walk, I curse the ground beneath my feet. I curse troy. I curse paris and helen. I want to take their hearts out of their chests with my own hands. I want to burn this disgusting city until there’s no bone left, no stone, no ash. they took him from me — they too will be left with nothing.
I don’t count how many I kill. there’s no glory in it anymore. I touch the heaviness sitting like an old friend in my chest — I carried Patroclus with me he was alive, no reason to change anything now — and feel it pulse it there.
to imagine him of all people would teach me pain.
I kill them like mice, cracking their skulls with my feet. my sword finds its way to their guts every time. Patroclus would turn his gaze at the sight, but he wasn’t here. troy smells like shit and blood — when I’m done, it will smell worse.
there’s no one around when I sense him. the sun brighter in my eyes, the air thinner, pendent, waiting. the stink of ash. apollo wants me to know he’s coming.
for the first time since Patroclus left me, I feel like laughing.
all gods are cowards, he won’t do it directly. I wonder who he choose to carry on with his feat. I imagine the songs they’ll make about them.
I imagine the songs they’ll make about us. will they sing us together in the legends? they must. they must sing about Patroclus’ hands, the calmness imbued in every inch of them. the best of greeks. solemn and cautious and brave. they must tell no war could make him less than good and kind. they must sing about our love, his kind eyes searching for me, the warmth of his chest against my back every night. will they say I went insane when I lost him? will they sing about achilles, the best of warriors, defeated? will they question my judgement, my sanity, my pain, because they don’t know how it feels to lose him? — and how could they possibly know?
another one and another and another. they fall before my feet. I don’t want to keep going. I whisper, come and kill me. a mortal wouldn’t listen but gods are all ears, hollow inside — he’ll drink my words like wine.
so apollo taunts me. he calls me. I walk towards him, my life and death already written in stone. I have nothing to lose.
I walk and listen. anytime now.
anytime now.
silence reigns, cold and sharp. I walk and listen.
it’s close.
I didn’t count how many I kill,
I count my breaths instead.
one.
my heart already knows. it must be Patroclus who tells it. unseen, intangible to me. but not to my heart, never to my heart. wait for me, I pray.
two.
the air is thicker and blows. my hair ricochets around my head like it’s trying to play a song on my skin. he wants to hurt me. stupid god. doesn’t he know it cannot be done? the only one who could hurt me is dead
— soon I’ll follow him.
three.
when I hear the arrow coming, I don’t get out of its way. laughter climbs my throat with eager fingers. I hold it there. I watch time follow its inevitable path. it stalls, cruel. it never took so long to do it.
four.
I turn my gaze to see it. the first time something is faster than me. I savour it, mouth, teeth and all. finally.
five.
when it tears my back apart, it doesn’t hurt.
I remember Patroclus’ hands running down them. he’s gone — they’re not good for anything else now. my muscles break, coming undone, and I want to laugh. it’s almost over. wait for me.
six.
when it pierces my heart, it doesn’t hurt.
instead, it makes me feel warm again. I know it's because I'm closer to him. Patroclus' spirit comes and collects his feeling from inside me.
or the arrow does.
seven.
life pours out and away through the hole it made. I don’t need to see my blood to know it’s red and I’m glad — I’m glad — it’s not golden. it will be over. I feel it all leaving me. my spirit softens and my eyes are damp. the ferocious laughter scratching my throat trembles, desperate to get out, but I don’t have enough strength to let it. instead, the corners of my mouth move up. my last move. it feels sweet. wait for me, my love.
I hit the ground a million times. my body, just once, for the first and last time.
wait for me, I pray.
wait for me, my love.
"I can’t wait to see you again
It’s only a matter of time"
(Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story
— Lin-Manuel Miranda)