Disclaimer: I do not own the Odyssey. I don't know who owns the story. I do know that Homer, the guy who wrote this however, is long dead. So, am I supposed to even have this? Don't know.

Odysseus' Wingman

Odysseus, Odysseus. We would be lost without you, yet lost still, with you. The gods are truly against you. Then, by association, are those around you.

Somehow, I have always known what would happen. That a journey with Odysseus would call too much attention to the gods. That I'd be throwing my life into the fates of weighted dice. War, however, has no reason, and I found myself thrown into it. Employing a certain amount of dexterity, I found myself out of the better in the Trojan War. Home was our next destination, and hope had then shown itself to me; we had won, had we not?

I should have known, really. Our king is far too much of a magnet to stay inconspicuous. Over time Odysseus is captured into Calypso's caves as her love, desired by Circe of Aeaea, and held up in the city of Cicones, Ismerus, where the people, which were allies of the Trojans, therefore enemies of ours, were practically asking to be killed and plundered. They in turn, however, retaliated by murdering seventy-two of our number. Next came the storm that sent us around aimlessly for nine days, sending us straight to the land of the Lotus Eaters. That was a disaster. The main goal of each rotten day of our lives taken away with a bite of those "delicacies." I thank my inborn senses that told me to not eat the thing, for days on end with dwindling and repetitive supplies causes one to lose reason; had it not been for that, I would have been among the first to taste the flower.

Ah, the land of the Cyclopes. No, this holds most memories for me. Before even sighting the land, I knew this to be an unfortunate place. Nothing said by me shall change a thing, even if I should be able to convince the others to leave after seeing the lush lands holding preciously missed provisions Wild goats were wandering around; how I missed that underappreciated taste.

In the morning, ten others and Odysseus and I, of the best of his men, set off to try for the hospitality of the lands or whether or not they were civilized. It took very little time in reaching the Cyclops' cave, and inside! He had more lambs and kids than his pens could hold, and the cheese-racks were stuffed with mouth-watering cheeses. The dairy, all the containers, bowls, and milk pails, were brimming with sweet, sweet, wonderful whey.

How I wished we had gone! I, amazingly, had convinced all, later, but the Odysseus of the dangers of this place, how it would be wiser to merely steal the needed rations, but the king and his innocence! Not all will grant us a "gift," but no hardship had yet to teach him. Even with the others in tow, no sway was to be had in his obstinacy. Odysseus, to appease us, had offered a sacrifice to Zeus, but being the fickle nature of gods, it was scorned.

Finally he shows fear! Had I not warned him? The loud din of the logs the Cyclops was carrying left us scrambling in fear. Look, and see; how are we to compete against one whose strength is so that all of us combined, the best of warriors and the great Odysseus himself, cannot move a boulder our one adversary can with little effort?

"'Strangers, who are you?" he asked, glimpsing us while lighting his bonfire. Who are we? Dead strangers, that's who we where. "Where do you sail from? Are you traders, or do you sail the as rovers, with your hands against every man, and every man's hand against you?"

Brave Odysseus answered back. At this point I had lost interest in the conversation, mesmerized by the building fire and its possible implications. I stepped further back, glancing up at his monstrous form. His stance had slowly taken one of a predator, and this was when he grabbed two of our men instantaneously. Of the ease he killed them while our company was rended useless, left to stare, hide, or go to the nature's two basic forms of survival. Fight (which was obviously out) or flee (where the only exit would be covered by a million ton boulder).

Sleeping is the monster, son of Poseidon, with no thought left of us other than tomorrow's feast. I fingered my sword, thinking. Oh, how I'd like to stab you right about now, but was brought out of my thoughts my Odysseus. His plan was brilliant on such short notice of, course. I never really expected less. I watched as Odysseus stood and readied the parts of the plan.

The time of the plan was nerve-wracking. It felt odd, being virtually helpless. At least I got to stab him. Yes! He's drinking the wine. He's sleeping . . . Yes! How do you like that? Polyphemus, how're you feeling now?

Oh, shoot. "Duck, you stupid men. Hide!" He's retaliating.

Now for the sketchy part of the plan. He's being loud.

"What ails you, Polyphemus, that you make such a noise, breaking the stillness of the night, and preventing us from being able to sleep? Surely no man is carrying off your sheep? Surely no man is trying to kill you either by fraud or by force?" said his neighbors.

Yes! Nohbdy it is. Now for the escape.

Sheep. Never again. I will never even look at them the same again. They served their purpose, however, though our king was nearly found out under that slow thing. As if the animal was feeling sympathy toward that brute. Delusional, he is, I thought.

On the ship, I retained my uneasy feeling. I was unsure why that was. That is until Odysseus started adding insult to injury.

The idiot! What did he think he was doing? Was he mad? The beast could track us though our voices! WAS THAT A BOULDER HE JUST THREW AT US? No! Don't answer back again!

Infuriated, Polyphemus bellowed, "Hear me, great Poseidon; if I am indeed your own true-begotten son, grant that Odysseus may never reach his home alive; or if has it that he must get back to his friends at last, let him do so late and in sore plight after losing all his men!"

Well, that explains the feeling.