Scylla

As we entered Scylla’s dark, murky cave, a wave of fear rose from my stomach into my chest. The thought that no one has ever made it out of the cave made my heart want to leap out of my chest. The fear that the great beast could jump out at us at any moment grew and grew until I couldn’t take it anymore. I would not just stand around and wait for death. I decided I would be ready for Scylla’s attack, so I went below deck to arm myself. I did not care what Circes said to me that I shouldn’t arm myself. I, Odysseus, great ruler of Ithaca would not die like this.

As I came up to the deck of the ship I saw her. Her heads were lined with jagged twelve-inch teeth on the top and bottom and had a terrible odor to them. Though the gigantic monster only had six heads, it felt as though she had dozens because heads kept popping from every direction. Standing there in my suit of armor, holding my spear, witnessing my comrades, my brothers, my fellow soldiers getting picked off the ship was the single saddest, most gruesome thing I had ever seen. And the worst part was that I could not do anything to help them. I was forced to just stand there dumbfounded watching my friends of battle die.