Young Writers Society

Hektor smiled in silence as he looked on his son, but she,
Andromache, stood close beside him, letting her tears fall,
and clung to his hand and called him by name and spoke to him: 'Dearest
your own great strength will be your death, and you have no pity
on your little son, nor on me, ill-starred, who soon must be your widow,
for presently the Achaians, gathering together,
will set upon you and kill you; and for me it would be far better
to sink into the earth when I have lost you, for there is no other
consolation for me after you have gone to your destiny--
only grief;

'Poor Andromache! Why does your heart sorrow so much for me?
No man is going to hurl me into Hades, unless it is fated,
but as for fate, I think that no man yet has escaped it
once it has taken its first form, neither brave man nor coward

As for the Achaians,
they will not hold, if the bonds of death are fastened upon them.

But you can no longer in honor give way to your fighting valour
being all the best men along the host.

[...] for my way
is not to fight my battles standing far away from my enemies.

Marcus: Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.

Titus: Why, I have not another tear to shed;
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
And would Usurp upon my wat'ry eyes
And make them blind with tributary tears.

"What are you most afraid or sad about?" she asked me one night as we were lying in bed.

"Leaving you," I told her.

And now, finally, maybe I had arrived at denial. Maybe total denial. Maybe, in the absence of any certainty, we should just assume that we're going to live a long time. Maybe that's the only way forward.

"You know, I've been having this recurring nightmare that this day was coming," she said.

herbalhour wrote:chappell roan