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THE ALLEYNIAN 709
CREATIVE WRITING
Thinking about it, he looked just like on the potteries in the market. With his red gash mouth like a careful, murderous slit and his tricky arms. He was, or at least he looked, like the least heroic hero. In the sense of his build. He was almost slight, but not quite. After a long pause I spoke back. ‘I’m…’ ‘Helen.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Your father was calling for you.’ ‘He often does.’ He moved his eyes someplace else, into the river maybe, or the wood but he didn’t move his head when he looked. It was almost as if, by looking away but facing me he was focusing on me even more. Then his look was back on me again, his mercury eyes flashing, his arms thrashing, his hands whirring. He pinned my head against the nook of his shoulder. Crushing my nose. We sailed out past the orchards and confused farmers, awkward and unknowing. He put me down at the edge of the travelling ship harder than I was expecting, I wasn’t braced for the slam and a sharp crate caught the soft part of my ankle. I yelled and kicked but couldn’t move and then I stopped screaming. No noise came out. When we descended I kept my eyes to my feet. I measured each step, we were on the cobbled stones of a port – Athens, then I saw sand under my feet, a shortcut maybe, then steps as we rose past arches, marble floor disappearing under my movement, keeping my eyes on my feet. I was trying not to show my limp but I could clearly see a bruise forming. And then I looked up, straight into the eyes of a tall, old woman. Once beautiful. ‘Aethra …’ I trailed off. ‘Mother…’ He trailed off too, unable to hold her gaze, ‘Helen, you must be. Yes. I know your father. How old are you, child?’ ‘Ten last week.’ Then Theseus stepped forward, looked between us and said suddenly: ‘she will not be returning’. With this, he turned on his heels. He floated to the door and vanished. ‘Come here, child.’ I looked up to Aethra and went to her.
Helen Nothing again. I started mixing all of the shades of grape together in the bowl. I only drink at night. Helen What? Another call, was it? One, two, three, one ‘Helen? ... Are you there?’ That was a voice. ‘Who is it?’ ‘Paris of Troy, envoy of King Priam, prince of …’ ‘I know who you are.’ ‘You are beautiful Helen; swan-like Helen.’ ‘You are vain Paris.’ ‘I have every right to be.’ ‘Why are you here?’ ‘You know why, Helen.’ ‘I do, but I want to hear it from your mouth.’ ‘If we set off now, it will be tomorrow when they discover your absence. There’s a feast.’ ‘Then go. Join in.’ ‘You mean you don’t want to come?’ ‘Go away.’ He must have left then because I heard no more from him. I had been mixing the wine the whole time and it had grown dark. Like the Aegean, Helen. Your wine. You should leave it . ‘Aphrodite.’ I opened my mouth again but nothing would come out. You are foolish to refuse him, girl . ‘It would have been foolish to go, too.’ I have sworn him to you . ‘And I must go because you’re a goddess?’ I am THE Goddess; my beauty is my power . ‘As mine is my weakness. I am a mortal woman; I stand lower than the steeds of war.’ Will you go? Menelaus would be interested to know what you were doing with Paris all night . ‘So it is decided without me? I am neither a goddess, nor am I a man.’ Take my hand: the ships are ready . I walked behind in shocked silence, choking on the pall of the thick night air. I must have looked like one of those darting fish you find in royal ponds. Frowning; opening and closing my mouth in silence. ‘Your eyes are emeralds, Helen.’ ‘They’re eyes.’ ‘Beautiful ones.’ ‘You’re a charmer.’ The Trojans were agitated, whispering in hushed and pale voices. Like disobedient children. Helen . The salty breeze brought the call to me. Long after the sun sank into the ocean and Nyx had thrown her blanket of darkness over the sky, I decided it was safe to move. I had been sitting as still as I could for
ARTWORK — ELIE ESBER (YEAR 11)
too long. I rose, stretched and moved over to the prow of the ship. It was then that I realised just how vast the ship was and how lost I was. If I returned now, I would be killed. If I jumped from the boat I would drown after a while. If I stayed – I wouldn’t be able to stay. By the time I had established how desolate a situation I was in, the men started to stir and I sat back down again. My movements now restricted, I started to think. I thought about all of the Spartan treasures I knew were below deck. I thought about the reception I would get; he would get. How could he be popular after bringing certain war and possible destruction to his city and home. The boat rocked in time with the clunking of paddles, awkwardly long and yet sleek. I watched the startling blue of the sea and the sun as it rolled towards the horizon, bleeding its rays onto us. That night it was cold. Ruthlessly cold. The pungent stench of whatever was below deck was too much for me, so I went above, to smell the sea. There it was
even cooler. I crept across the deck to where I thought I could see furs of some sort, carpets – no – tapestries, and our ones too. I sat by them, no one daring to approach and carefully, slowly, pulled away the threads from the border of one. Then, slowly I pulled at the faces: some sort of feast. A king – gone; now a queen. Then Aphrodite was gone, faceless. I pulled away faster and faster, tearing at the guests, pulling their faces off too. I did this for as long as I could; it kept me warm I guess, being angry. Then someone came towards me in the dark and I moved away. I knew enough of their language to know they were drunk. I watched the moon as it looked down on me, its pale blue light shimmering icily on the waves, breaking. As the sun came up, few were on deck. The pink light showed the damage that had been done from the day before, and the paddles clumped lazily together. I thought I saw dolphins. I looked after them, but they had gone.
Nothing. I turned and shut the window: just the breeze. It makes that noise sometimes and you think you’re being called –
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