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

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.

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.”

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.

You see me as some quiet smart person. The one who will get you through projects and make teachers happy. But sometimes, it’s like that’s all you see. I’m quiet. That is my label. To you, I’m the mute kid that barely talks. I warm up to people, but still, they always see me as practically silent. Maybe I’ve been shedding the label in the past few years, but I guess you'll always come back to it. And apparently if I'm silent, that means I'm have nothing to say. No opinion. Nothing. Well I have news. I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. A lot to say, actually. Just because I’m not shooting my mouth off every time opportunity presents itself doesn’t mean my opinion is as wispy and nondescript as clouds. Maybe if you got to know me, you’d know that. The thoughts in my brain, my feelings-private. But boy, your opinion of me would change if you ever paid enough attention to hear it. I’m filled with rage. With anger. Sadness. Loneliness. Happiness. Jealousy. Thoughtfulness. Love. Bet you didn’t know that. I get angry. Really angry. You probably think quiet people, especially me, don’t get angry. Don’t get into fights. Well guess what? I do. I get mad. So mad, you wouldn’t believe it. Poison seeps into my thoughts and contaminates my brain. The things I think are thoughts nobody is supposed to hear. I have so much to say. Hate, anger, love, everything inside my brain waiting to burst out. Maybe one day it will. But even though some comes out in waves, little trickles, you’d never know. Nobody ever seems to pay enough attention.

Help.

Help me, I'm stuck.

Stuck in a place where no one knows anything except me.

Stuck in my mind.

You're the only one who can save me.

Only you.

Time.

Time is running out...

for you and me.

We don't have to stay here.

These thoughts take me to a place where no one knows anyone except me.

And I'm stuck.

Help.

Help me.

Forever.

You said forever is all we need,

but you're not here now.

I need you now.

Stuck in a place where no one knows anywhere except me.

And I need you,

not me.

These thoughts conquered me head.

I can't spell them out for anyone,

not even you.

I grew up with this girl. I admired her for being able to talk and make friends with no problem. She was everything I wasn’t. She was everything I wished I could be.

Later on in life, I found myself missing her. After years of feeling like I was justified in ending our friendship, upon reflection, that justification gradually began to slip away, little by little, and I started to regret how I used to be. I used to push her away constantly. Even then, she still spent time with me. I didn’t even have the courage to tell her face-to-face that I didn’t want to be her friend anymore. I ended our friendship over the internet, back when instant-messaging was still a thing. My brother, who was friends with her brother, told me that she cried after that. I made her cry. Because of my own selfishness.

At one point, I arranged to meet up with her to get closure on shit that didn’t matter and on a whim, I tried to revive that friendship, but to no avail. I have no one to blame but myself. I had convinced myself that we were too different. But that wasn’t true. We played dolls together. We watched movies and TV shows together. We danced together. I just didn’t make the effort to try and connect with her about those interests. Even so, she watched my favorite show Sailor Moon with me. One time, I stood on her porch with a book about the Japanese language and she asked if she could see it, but I denied her, childishly possessive of an interest I wanted to belong to me and only me.

If I could go back in time, I’d know better than to shut her out. I’d know better than to be so selfish. I’d speak with her about American Idol and The Notebook and all of the other stuff we watched. I’d actually make the effort to connect with her. If I could do that, I’d imagine that we’d still be friends now, or maybe more.

Maybe the years of dreams I’ve had of her would be realized. We’d be together, kissing in bed, kissing in the pool. She’d only want to experiment with me at first, not displaying too much emotional interest. Subconsciously, I believe that this is my way of punishing myself for how much I used to take her for granted. I’d have to be there for her and support her over many dreams before she even started having feelings for me. I’d learn that her parents were homophobic. My parents would know that we were together, but they wouldn’t approve because they don’t like her. Against all odds, we’d see each other in secret. We’d grow closer and closer. She’d finally return my feelings and back me up against the wall, kissing me with a passion I’ve been longing for.

The story is bound to continue so long as I still harbor these feelings for her. I know that dreams are born from fear and desire, but I can’t help but wish that these dreams I’m having are bits and pieces of a life I lead in an alternate universe where I never stopped being her friend. That may just be wishful thinking on my part, but I find it to be a comforting thought to know that there’s a me out there in another world who hasn’t made the same mistakes I’ve made.

About a month ago, I started having really odd dreams. I generally have always been alone in my dreams (except for the occasional vampire and once I had an animated dream starring the Flintstones…okay, that wasodd, but really funny). Anyway, about a month ago, I started having dreams that were full of people that talked to me, whose hands I could touch and feel, who had faces that I could draw, well, if I could draw. They lived in houses and apartments that I could remember when I woke up – the furniture, the smell, the landscape from a window. They had babies whose clothes I could describe, with chubby cheeks I kissed, and small warm bodies I held. Suddenly, my dreams had animals, dogs, cats, whose fur was soft (and didn’t make me sneeze) and who came so close to my face I could feel their warm breath on my lips.

After a couple of weeks, I didn’t have any particularly weird dreams for a while, at least, none that I remember, but everyday life seemed to become a bit less ordinary and a lot more should I get some professional help?A couple of times I was driving and suddenly the asphalt seemed to be buckling and sending up ribbons of road. I panicked and blinked and all was normal. Must have been the wind blowing up debris, I said to myself. Sun glare must have made it look weird…

Little stupid things I chalked up to mid-life hormones addling my brain started happening. I’d wash my hands, turn to dry them on the towel and then hear water, turn around and the faucet was still running. Duh, I’d think, turning off the water. I’d go to my room and after dressing, hear something in the bathroom, go back…and the water was still running. I thought I turned it off, I’d think…turning it off again. Similarly, I’d find the refrigerator door open, a flame blazing on the stove, the front door wide open and unlocked, the car running in the garage. The joys of aging, I’d say to myself, shaking my head as I turned off the flame, shut and locked the door, turned off the ignition…again and again.

The turning point appears to have been yesterday (or was it last week?) when I really could not explain away the moment when I was walking in the supermarket and fell forward into my wagon because someone bumped into my back but when I turned around to accept an apology, I was the only one in the aisle. Clumsy me I said out loud …although there was nothing on the floor and I had not tripped over my own feet.

When I turned back to my cart,I was no longer in the supermarket, but rather walking on the sand towards what appeared to be a hotel, watching sun bathers shift shape so quickly I nearly screamed. I will not scream, I told myself. I will not draw attention to the fissure in my psyche. I am obviously losing my mind. I will figure this out.When I opened the door to the building, I entered my home. I looked behind me, and saw my street.

“Hey, sweetheart,” my husband said, coming to hug me at the door. He stopped at the entrance to the foyer. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” he said, walking towards me menacingly.

“What?” I asked…confused until I heard my deep, masculine voice. I turned and ran.

I have been on the street since then. I think. I haven’t slept, or perhaps I have not awakened. I often wonder if I died in my sleep and this is my afterlife. If it is, I’m certain heaven was not my destination. But if it’s hell, it seems almost worse than the fire and brimstone of the stories of my youth. Eternal…what? As the world beneath my feet shifts place – or is it time? – so too everything and everyone around me. I am surrounded by people who have become a multiplicity of beings, their faces ceasing to be recognizable as features are barely visible before they begin to melt into the features of another. It’s the stuff of horror movies or nightmares from which you awaken in a cold sweat, but try as I might, I can’t leave the theatre or pinch myself awake. I asked someone to pinch me not long ago, thinking I had to be dreaming. He did. It hurt.