THE FINAL DUEL

 

Hello, this is my new post, my first one in this school year. As I did before (for siege of Masada, for example), I tried to capture a specific moment in history,  or I’d better say classic literature,  in a short text, a short story full of tension and emotions.  I hope you’ll enjoy it.  

Francesco G., 4sc

 

<<Face me!>> These words make me angry.

                I wear my new armour, looted on the battlefield, my dear shield, as strong as stone, my crested helm, which scares any enemy I meet, though  I know it won’t be able to do it this time.

                My spear shines like a jewel, with its sharpened blade; my loyal xiphos sword looks like one of Apollo’s tears, ready to kill.

                I get out of my palace and reach the walls; my father is waiting for me: <<Please Hector, don’t go>> he tells me, but I must. I am the only one who can defend this city.

 <<Don’t go>> says my younger brother, but I don’t even hear him, the man who brought ruin and death on this wonderful place.

 <<Don’t go, don’t leave us!>> and I look at her, my wife. She carries our son in her arms. That’s the worst feeling I have ever experienced in my life, not to know if my son would live after this crazy war. Now, when I look at him, I’m sure I will die soon.

                Then I watch the gates from the upper walls and see him: the wonderful warrior who came to kill me, a man trying to protect his city from shadow and destruction.

                Then he looks at me: <<Face me!>> he repeats.

I watch my entire family crying while I approach the gates. <<Please don’t go, you will die!>> my wife tells me.

<<I must. Don’t worry for me, I will meet my destiny: the goddesses of doom have already decided whether I will die or not. We are men, both I and the person who is waiting for me outside the walls. Farewell.>>.

The gates are opened and I get out of my city one last time.

                It’s hot. Apollo’s cart runs high in the sky. Then I look at my foe: he looks like a god, immortal among mortals.

It’s time, only one of us two will survive: I’m Hector of Troy, horse rider, first son of Priamus, and he is Achilles, son of Peleus, Achea’s best warrior.

Our fight will never be forgotten, even when we will be no more than ashes scattered in the wind. Come on Achilles, come and fight Hector, Troy’s best defender, and we will be immortal forever!