The stench of sweat hung in the air like perfume, laced with undercurrents of blood. The people seated around the colosseum roared, pounding their feet at the stone beneath them like wild animals. The games brought out the bloodlust that everyone tried so hard to hide. Lyra found the whole process morbid, the fact that people would pay to see their fellow men be mutilated in front of them, but she couldn’t complain. Without the games she would have died long ago.

A scream ricocheted through the stone passageways, finding its way to Lyra’s cell. She hardly noticed, instead focusing on fastening her ankle guards, tightening the leather straps until they bit into her skin. She would be rubbed raw tomorrow, but it would be worth it if she was still alive. Lyra heard footsteps as the next contestant rushed to the field, screaming in a rageful delirium.

“FOR ROME WE FIGHT! FOR ROME WE DIE!” The phrase was familiar to Lyra as it had become a kind of mantra for the willing contestants before they ascended to the roaring crowds of the colosseum. For the prisoners of war forced into the games, like Lyra, there was no such saying. Only the knowledge that their survival today would bring them no closer to freedom.

“You’re up next,” the guard huffed, motioning impatiently for her to follow.

“Y’know, if the games are so set on death and blood you should give the contestants guns. It’s not like we’re living in 100-something B.C. anymore,” Lyra muttered sarcastically, motioning to the pistol at the guards belt.

“It may be 2084, sweetie, but the games are only interesting because the deaths take time. With guns the fun ends too early. Besides, you can’t say that we haven’t given you decent tech,” he snapped, walking away. Lyra shrugged, looping her electrum whips around her wrists as she made her way to the battlefield. Two left turns, then a right, up a half flight of stairs and around the medical unit and Lyra was there, a few feet from the endless expanse of sand. It had been white the morning before but was already marred with countless brown patches, the newer ones still glistening red.

“Can we welcome to the pit FOXX!” The crowd bellowed as a black-clad man entered the ring, cords of muscle glistening in the harsh sunlight. Lyra grimaced, noticing the silver insignia across his breast. He was a sponsor. She hated sponsors. Sponsors volunteered for the games and had the support of billion dollar companies, the likes of which equipped them with the finest weapons money could buy. If they won even once they were awarded more money than Lyra would see in her entire life.

“FOXX will be facing WIRE this evening...” The announcer drawled on about the stats of each contestant but at the mention of her alias Lyra blocked him out. With a single breath she released every thought tearing at her mind leaving nothing but a sense of emptiness, save for a single word vibrating through every cell in her body. Survive. When she walked onto the field there was no roar of applause but rather the slamming of feet onto cool marble. THUMP. They wanted blood. THUMP. Someone would die. THUMP.

Lyra closed her eyes for a moment, easing the whips from her wrists into her scarred palms. The starting pistol fired and her eyes flicked open, finding her opponents across the field. It struck her as sad that she didn’t know the boys name, only the dramatic title the announcer had slapped over him, but such thoughts quickly faded from her mind. He grinned maniacally, spinning a double bladed sword in front of him fast enough that it became a blur. Lyra didn’t need to see the weapon to know that it was a StunBlade, coated with enough tranquilizer to kill a horse. The second the blade met her skin she would be as good as dead.

Lyra should have been terrified by this realization, but she only felt a cool numbness. One touch and she would die. The solution was easy enough, she supposed. She couldn’t let the blade touch her. With a sudden effort she extended her whips at either side of her body, listening to the buzz of electricity as they illuminated a soft blue. The electricity coursing through them was wild. Unpredictable. She smiled, loving the rush of adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

She struck at Foxx with her whips but he easily batted them aside, spinning his blade faster. She felt its breeze as it passed within inches of her neck and she instinctively ducked, spiraling away before the poison could touch her flesh. She lashed out again, twin whips falling short of their mark before they could make contact. The smallest tendril of fear wrapped around her heart, crushing it in a vice-like grip. He lunged at her, sword poised to strike, but Lyra threw herself desperately at the ground before his blow landed. She rolled to her feet with a practiced motion, shuffling backwards as she folded her shoulders in, the posture of one who knows their death is coming. Foxx’s grin deepened at this and he stepped forwards, within inches of claiming his victory. He didn’t know it yet, but that one step would be his downfall. Lyra struck out with her whips one last time, managing to wrap the metal tip around his blade, ripping it out of his hand. His eyes widened in confusion for a moment and she was upon him, tackling him to the ground before he had the chance to gather his bearings. Tenderly she allowed one of her whips to caress his cheek, spitting sparks onto his exposed skin. His body trembled violently beneath her, his eyes rolling back in his head as he took a last rattling breath.

The crowd was silent, every mouth agape at this stranger who had the nerve to take their champion from them. Lyra turned her whips off with a flick, coiling the metal around her wrists once again. The silence gave way to outcries of rage and distant sobbing. Lyra stepped away from the carcass at her feet, letting the numbness envelop her heart. She felt guilty, of course. It may have been the only option for her own survival, but that didn’t mean this man’s death was justified. None of this was.

Anger dissolved the numb wall that Lyra had tried so hard to build around herself and for the first time in far too long rage blossomed inside of her. Lyra glanced upwards at the camera broadcasting her image to the crowd and smirked. There was fire behind her eyes and she would not stop until the world around her lay in ashes.

She returned to the same cell she had spent every night for the past five years in, a pawn of the games returned to her place. But even the weakest pawn can end the game if they reach the other side of the board. The games would end. Not today. Not for awhile, she supposed, but when they did, she would be the one that ripped them apart.

some people believe in a higher power.

as for me, i'd prefer higher education.

not higher gas prices.

a higher income rate would be great,

but only if everything that costs anything goes down.

some people believe in a higher power.

can someone tell that higher power

to heighten my senses?

to heighten my awareness of the world?

there are too many highs in this world,

and every high comes with a low.

We had wandered for miles along the coast, every minute expecting to find the quaint beachside bar advertised in the brochure. But to no avail.

The last of our water was used and the sun beat down like a beating sun.

“Whose bloody bright idea was this?” moaned Tex.

“I told you we should have just stayed in town and done a pub crawl round all the bars. Some stag week this is!”

Billy sighed.

“Look Tex we’ve got four days here. We can’t just hammer the local bars every day. We’ll be there soon.”

As Billy spoke, they turned a bend in the path. Below them was a miracle. Unless it was a mirage!

Two tables full of beer glasses. All brim-full and crystal cold.

The four men looked at each other.

“Well,” said Tom.

“I can’t see a bar, but there’s the beer! Come on!”

“Aye, but whose beer is it? It could be anybody’s.”

“Well, it’s ours now.” Tex had started down the path to the beach.

“I mean, if you leave beer lying round in the sun, it’s bound to get drunk. Besides look how cold it looks. If we leave it there it’ll soon be warm beer and no use to anyone!”

The others agreed and they jogged down to the tables. Each picked up a cold glass of liquid amber and downed it in one, before choosing a second to sup at a more leisurely pace.

But before they reached midway in the second glass they heard a shout from the cliff line. Slightly blinded by the sun, they turned towards some dark unnoticed caves at the foot of the cliff. They blinked in shock as the giant frame of a man came into view, towering well over seven foot tall.

The figure ran towards them, shouting inaudible words.

“Shit!” yelled Tom.

“Look at the size of him. We’ve had it lads!”

“And look!” Billy was pointing up at the creature’s face.

“He’s only got one eye!”

It was true. Right in the middle of the forehead. One large, unblinking eye.

“Shit! It’s a Cyclops! It’s a bloody Cyclops!”

“Well. We are in Greece,” Tex observed, helpfully.

“And, as the old joke goes, if we have to have a fight with a creature from ancient mythology, he's the one-eyed get!”

“Bloody hell, Tex. This isn’t the time for jokes!” Billy yelled.

The lads backed up towards the lapping sea, realising that the escape route to the path was blocked by this giant creature. They were trapped.

“Hey, Tom. I’ve got an idea. Have you got your Samsung Tab with you?” Dan piped up.

“Yeah, it’s in my rucksack. Why?”

“Quick. Get it out,” Dan was animated as he spoke.

“Hurry. Switch it on and open Candy Crush.”

“Bloody hell, Dan. This is no time to play games!” But Tom did as he was told, even as he objected.

“Not us, dickhead. Put it on and slide it over to the beast! It’s our only hope.”

Understanding dawned on the others.

Nobody could resist Candy Crush

The Tab booted quickly and as the Cyclops closed in on them Tom opened the app.

“Right. It’s on. I’ve set it so a beginner can use it. Here goes.”

He flipped the device across the short gap between them and the oncoming beast.

It landed face up in the sand, flashing colours and playing enticing music. Nobody could resist.

The Cyclops stopped, puzzled. Bending, he picked up the Tab.

“Huh?” or at least something akin to that, seeped from his lips.

He examined the flashing colours with his single eye.

Then emitted what can only be described as a chuckle, before slumping to the ground and sitting cross-legged, pawing at the game controls and peering intently at the screen.

“Bingo!” yelled Dan.

“Come on, lads, leg it.”

The four men sprinted across the sand to the path, unheeded by the enthralled Cyclops.

They ran on for several minutes in the blazing sun, constantly checking over their shoulders to make sure they weren’t being pursued.

“Right!” said Tex.

“I’m phoning a bloody taxi and getting us back to the hotel. We’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

The others looked at each other and spoke in unison.

“Eye, eye, captain!”

It was a joke they would repeat for years to come!

https://greece.mrdonn.org/odyssey.html

Falling

Falling

Falling

Why did I ever agree to wear these wings?

Why was I so reckless?

Will Heaven have Fortnite?

Martin Lawerence sits in a jail cell. Awaiting trial for the muder of Roy Geoffrey, his partner in crime in one of the biggest cocaine funded criminal organizations in the world. A hundred million dollar bail set for his release. Roy being the only person he could call for bail like that.

Martin is being framed. He was with Roy when the murder took place, but it wasn’t him who had done it. Some ninjas popped in from out of no where, killed Roy, and left without hardly making a sound.

All of a sudden two guards come into the cell and say “let’s go. You’re getting out.”

Marting askes “how is that possible?”

One of the gaurds replies ” shut the fuck up and move! I don’t get paid to answer your questions.”

The gaurds escort martin out, handling him very roughly in doing so. They push Martin out the door, throwing the few items Martin had out with him.

Martin hit his head hard when he was thrown out of jail and as he lay there in the dark a dark shadow came upon him in a dreamlike state.

“Hello Martin. I am Erebus. You do not know me, but I know you. I am here to help. See, certain things are transpiring that you do not understand. But I do. Thats why I’m going to take control of you. Just temporarily. You will be aware, and be able to communicate with me in your mind. We must move quickly! We have much to do Martin Lawerence.”

Martin says back to Erebus casually “let’s ride.”

Make no mistake, Eros, you call to us all. See

how the father curls anguished in that

sweaty comforter, twisting

in that unfulfilled gnawing -- that slight glimpse

of pale flesh, as the cashier bends to grab

a paper bag, the soft curve of lashes,

lifting from the green eyes

of the substitute teacher. But see, the mother too

curls away, gnawing restless

in her own secret - how that gentle face

hungrily devoured the entirety

of her aging form, how that worn T-shirt

stretched across his taut frame, his wet mouth - open,

bending to meet her trembling lips. Yes Eros,

you claw at the heart, always beyond the horizon, just

past this one next ridge. And what will become

of this ordinary couple; each curled

away from the other, clinging

to their secrets, gasping for one

last breath, that vague sense of the immortal? Who can say?

But love, true love lies waiting -

that heroic search, that epic quest -- not

some quest in search for some new someone, some

colorful present waiting, wrapped beneath some tree. No.

True love is the truly great quest, not a search for the other, but with

the other. Together we search

the depths of ourselves, troweling beneath

the crust, the stacks of dishes

and missed appointments,

even the terrifying realization of just how full

of shit I truly am. But there,

like a tiny leak, a quiet dripping,

trickling from the dense cement

of the heart, it lives.

Can you feel it? That impossible tenderness,

as he turns to her, and she to him and they embrace, and

once more merge, filling themselves with each other

like human beings. Can you hear them as they

cry in the darkness? “Oh, my sweet

love, how I missed you.”

apollo watched icarus.

the god watched as icarus was melting wax, skin tight over his knuckles, voice strained as he yelled out after the hot wax dripped onto his pale skin.

oh, i’m sorry, my dearest.

apollo watched icarus.

the god watched as icarus was melding the metal frame together, arms taught and muscular, working over the flame, cursing as the flame grazed his palm.

oh, another one.

apollo watched icarus.

the god watched as icarus sat at the cliffs edge, staring out at the grey ocean below, grinning when the water sprayed into his golden hair.

i wish things were different.

apollo was a prophet. he knew icarus was going to burn, he knew that icarus was going to drown. still, he couldn’t seem to put an end to his fascination. apollo knew that he’d be the demise of his lover, but he couldn’t help himself. once he began to care, he just couldn’t let go.

im sorry, darling. i wish that i was different. i wish that you were different. i’m sorry for falling in love. i’m sorry you fell in love.