Anastasiya Krasnova January 19, 2006
6G Social Studies
The Trojan Horse — From a Different Point of View
by Anastasiya Krasnova
The wooden horse was brought within the walls and left upon the streets of the city in the darkness of the night fell.
I will never forget that fateful night. The war, the Trojan War, I should say. Ten years of fighting. For what though? Slaughter...blood...corpses on the ground. Over some "beauty" who I'm not sure was aware the war was going on. How would I know this? Well, Helen and I grew up together. That doesn't mean we were acquaintances, much less friends. But I had the most up-close look on the situation than anyone.
Paris fell for Helen's mesmerizing ways. Like so many others, might I add. And when the war broke out, I was apalled. But I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. I was never like Helen; that's what she would do and was doing. So I decided to see if I could pull an act.
I decided to fight.
But in order to do that I had to be a man.
I bought a sharp knife at the agora and later that night cut my long hair off. It was so unneccassary anyways. I used the hair to make myself a moustache; and practiced my low man voice. I couldn't let this slip up. But then I thought, So why was I going into the war when I just severely critiqued it? I sat down with my hair. Then I decided that I needed to do what felt right, and for some reason or other, this felt like it.
I decided to pay another visit to the agora the next day to see if I could fool people. As far as I know, no one even did a double-take. This was progressing quite nicely. The next step was to tell my family. To tell my mother and father I was leaving. And that it was possible I wouldn't be coming back.
My mother was shocked. As was my father. The only person who understood, or seemed to, was my brother. He, of all people, believed in me.
But after eight years, I knew the war was close to an end. Was I too late? All those years I walked around with the thought of doing this in my head, but I never really carried out the plan. Until now, of course.
After thirteen days, I was finally fighting. People might think I would faint at the gory sights I saw so often, but to their awe and surprise I didn't. I was not squeamish at all, actually. I knew I had to do this. And I would sure do it.
It was early morning. I heard people rushing out, so I followed. The Greeks were surrendering! Oh how pitiful I felt. Eight years of nothingness; no participation whatsoever, then I fight for two weeks and my time is up. How very unlucky. I knew I hadn't proved myself. As I looked at the beautiful wooden creation, I realized tears welling up in my eyes. So this was the end. It ended before it began.
The horse was a beauty, more beautiful then Helen. I brushed away the tear and smiled at the thought. Then the man next to me noticed my brushing away at something on my face. I panicked a little, then put on my man expression once again.
But then a very bothersome thought crept up to my brain: Why were the Greeks all of a sudden surrendering? Giving us this gift...no solid reasoning behind these actions...I tried to talk to other soldiers, but they were too ecstatic to notice my presence. I was worried, but joined the feast that night. It was joyful! But this time I went as myself. People asked me about my hair, but I tried to brush it off every time. I would never tell anyone the truth.
I sat on a bench outlooking at a beautiful view. Then I noticed something shooting through the air...what could it be? My heart raced, but I tried to calm down. It couldn't be anything of danger; probably some grateful Trojan celebrating. So I ignored this fact; and returned to the feast.
That night no civil Trojan could go to sleep, with excitement flowing through their blood. But eventually things quieted down, and the feast was done as fast as it had begun. I lay in my bed, staring hard into the ceiling. That fiery arrow...was it an arrow? It was, I imagine. What else could it be? Whatever it was, it was of some significance.
I stood up, and walked outside and sat on the same bench. I heard some noise. I stood up and walked towards it. It was coming from behind one of the houses.
I jumped back a little at the sight. Not because of what I saw; surprise was more the reason. It was a young man, hunched over, displaying his feasting for all to see. There was quite a puddle under him, and four empty bottles left of him. I stood there; not knowing what to do, while he decided to build a museum of half digested, dark celery colored chunks of food right there behind the house.
He stopped when he noticed someone behind him. His eyes rolled up to his forehead; he tried to steady his stance, but failed, and fell onto me, the more liquid version of what was on the ground dripping on my shoulder as he tried to speak.
By now there was a thickening sluggish muli-colored trail racing from my shoulder to my lower back. I could feel it sinking in and slowly hardening on my skin.
"Grrrr-eeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk EEEEEEEEEEghh Grrrrrrrr-," he breathed at me with his beastly breath. I inched away from his face as I tried to get him to stay standing. Who was this wasted guy? No one I knew, for sure.
He finally stood, holding on to a thin and frail tree. "Greeks, nnnnn---eaaaaaaaaaaddddd.....to telllllllll.....t-cooooooooommmmmm-—," he tried to finish when all of a sudden he went at me and cleansed his stomach of any remains of the remains of food and ale from the celebration.
I stood there, motionless. I tried to run my fingers through my hair, but that was almost impossible with the ex-contents of the man's stomach sprawled all over my head, arms, chest, and hips. Ate quite a lot, he did, eh?
"Go home, sir. No need to wake up everyone this hour at night."
"Naaaaa....shoooooot....oppppppeennnnnnnn ggggggg....." he stopped to take a breath. What was he saying, anyway? He inhaled, and then exhaled through his mouth, letting out quite an odor. "...aaaate."
Ate? Well, obviously he did enough of that, no? I had all the proof now solid on my clothes and body, thank you.
"Shoot? Shoot who?"
The man spit some thick paste on the ground. He aimed at my feet. I pushed him away hard. He got close to my face, then gave me the dirtiest look in the whole universe. I felt like taking a long swim, even more than I did before.
I stopped for a second. I looked over where I saw the spectacle earlier. "Shoot there?"
"You Trrrojan!"
"Aren't you?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Quickly I stumbled over back to the house and got my bow and arrow. But it was too late. He was armed.
He shot at me, but because of his mental state he got me in the leg. I tried to launch myself at him; to make him collapse, but he fell before I had a chance to do it myself, and so I landed face first in the half dry puddle.
I felt some go up my nose, and I tried to spit most of it out. I still had my bow and arrow, so I shot at him. I didn't want to kill him yet, just to make it so he won't get away.
He, for starters, was the spy.
After he spit, something in my mind clicked and I realized that he was sending some kind of message. And that spoke for itself. It pointed to spy.
I heard ruffles by the horse standing still. I saw men exiting the horse! I shuddered with worry. No, I had to be brave. I had to stand up for what I believed.
I saw one jump off the leg of the horse, and land on the ground. I aimed for him. I missed, but he didn't. He missed the other wound by about half an inch, so I yipped in pain. I stuck two fingers over both bloody spots, as I tried to make the pain stop shooting up my leg. The Greek was standing over me, and was about to finish me as I jumped to my feet and punched him with all the strength left in my body. I got his jaw, and it made a ka-tunk sound as he fell to the dusty ground, a blood trail carrying three broken yellowed teeth.
By now people emerged from their houses, answering my screams for help. Other soldiers took care of the vomitting man, while the one who saw me cry stopped and looked at me once more. "I knew you were a lady. But such a lady as you mustn't fight with the men."
He obviously got the message that I took that as an offense, so he tried to back off. "And why not?" I retorted at him.
He just shook his head and walked off to the men huddled by the spy.
Then I saw a familiar face exit the door from my house. My brother. I ran to him and embraced him, failing to realize how filthy I was. He made a horrible grimace, so I inched away, and muttered, "Apologies."
I walked over to the guy whose jaw I shattered, and shot at him once more, just to make sure he was done. Just after I did that, I heard a herd of wild gurgles and yells enter Troy. Someone must've opened the gate.
All of our forces were ready to attack the Greeks. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't take anyone's life unless they tried to take mine. It is a painful subject for me, remembering the killing, and the blood flowing in streams on the floor, but you have to understand, it was me taking their life so that they wouldn't take mine.
One man came at me with a long sharpened branch. He saw my bloody ankle and stabbed me in the same place. The third time my foot was injured this night. Then he noticed my smell and wiggled his nose in disgust. I got some nice phlegm in my mouth and spat it in his eyes. It was the least I could do to keep him from stabbing me more.
I tore off some cloth off my stained skirt and bandaged my ankle and foot. It went through so much I'd probably have to get it off in about a month from all the filth and dust that entered it.
It made it better. So I went back to fighting.
By now it was early morning, and most people were on the ground, wounded or dead. You had to be very careful to walk without stepping on anyone. I walked through the piles of people, until I saw a couple of familiar faces. I tried to help everyone, but as I did that, I realized that lying maybe a foot away from me was King Priam. I stumbled over there, trying to help him. With a bruised face and blood slowly trickling out of his temple, I knew the answer to my worst fear. Our king was dead. I got him some water, I don't know why, though. His mouth was open. I poured some in.
To my surprise, he tried to speak. "Thhhhannnnh yoooou," he mouthed, but I understood.
My mother was near someone I knew. Paris. Yes, the infamous Paris. He had a few scrapes on him. There were more people up now, others helped them. I heard some ugly screams and moans from pain, but tried to block them out. I walked by Mother and Paris, then to the infamous by now bench. I stood on it now.
I thought about this day. With pain stringed through me, stranger's blood on my hands, the solidated vomit. I thought about if this was what I wanted to achieve. We won, that was obvious to anyone. And I stood on that bench, thinking about the dead King Priam, about Helen who probably didn't know this has happened, about my mother and Paris. I was still standing there when hours later my brother came up behind me, and said quietly, "Helen left Paris. She said she never loved him."
I snickered. Wasn't that so obvious? She didn't know what love meant, Helen didn't. I doubt she knew what had happened because of her. This war was a memorable highlight in my life. And in my heart, I knew I accomplished what I wanted.
What that was, I still am not that sure.
Four years later, I walk with scars, not just on my leg. I live with pride, too. I went after what I believed and what I wanted. I proved what a fake Helen was; she was hiding out somewhere now, since she's been so humiliated after breaking it off with Paris. Paris got quiet. We have a new king, King Priam's
6G Social Studies
The Trojan Horse — From a Different Point of View
by Anastasiya Krasnova
The wooden horse was brought within the walls and left upon the streets of the city in the darkness of the night fell.
I will never forget that fateful night. The war, the Trojan War, I should say. Ten years of fighting. For what though? Slaughter...blood...corpses on the ground. Over some "beauty" who I'm not sure was aware the war was going on. How would I know this? Well, Helen and I grew up together. That doesn't mean we were acquaintances, much less friends. But I had the most up-close look on the situation than anyone.
Paris fell for Helen's mesmerizing ways. Like so many others, might I add. And when the war broke out, I was apalled. But I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. I was never like Helen; that's what she would do and was doing. So I decided to see if I could pull an act.
I decided to fight.
But in order to do that I had to be a man.
I bought a sharp knife at the agora and later that night cut my long hair off. It was so unneccassary anyways. I used the hair to make myself a moustache; and practiced my low man voice. I couldn't let this slip up. But then I thought, So why was I going into the war when I just severely critiqued it? I sat down with my hair. Then I decided that I needed to do what felt right, and for some reason or other, this felt like it.
I decided to pay another visit to the agora the next day to see if I could fool people. As far as I know, no one even did a double-take. This was progressing quite nicely. The next step was to tell my family. To tell my mother and father I was leaving. And that it was possible I wouldn't be coming back.
My mother was shocked. As was my father. The only person who understood, or seemed to, was my brother. He, of all people, believed in me.
But after eight years, I knew the war was close to an end. Was I too late? All those years I walked around with the thought of doing this in my head, but I never really carried out the plan. Until now, of course.
After thirteen days, I was finally fighting. People might think I would faint at the gory sights I saw so often, but to their awe and surprise I didn't. I was not squeamish at all, actually. I knew I had to do this. And I would sure do it.
It was early morning. I heard people rushing out, so I followed. The Greeks were surrendering! Oh how pitiful I felt. Eight years of nothingness; no participation whatsoever, then I fight for two weeks and my time is up. How very unlucky. I knew I hadn't proved myself. As I looked at the beautiful wooden creation, I realized tears welling up in my eyes. So this was the end. It ended before it began.
The horse was a beauty, more beautiful then Helen. I brushed away the tear and smiled at the thought. Then the man next to me noticed my brushing away at something on my face. I panicked a little, then put on my man expression once again.
But then a very bothersome thought crept up to my brain: Why were the Greeks all of a sudden surrendering? Giving us this gift...no solid reasoning behind these actions...I tried to talk to other soldiers, but they were too ecstatic to notice my presence. I was worried, but joined the feast that night. It was joyful! But this time I went as myself. People asked me about my hair, but I tried to brush it off every time. I would never tell anyone the truth.
I sat on a bench outlooking at a beautiful view. Then I noticed something shooting through the air...what could it be? My heart raced, but I tried to calm down. It couldn't be anything of danger; probably some grateful Trojan celebrating. So I ignored this fact; and returned to the feast.
That night no civil Trojan could go to sleep, with excitement flowing through their blood. But eventually things quieted down, and the feast was done as fast as it had begun. I lay in my bed, staring hard into the ceiling. That fiery arrow...was it an arrow? It was, I imagine. What else could it be? Whatever it was, it was of some significance.
I stood up, and walked outside and sat on the same bench. I heard some noise. I stood up and walked towards it. It was coming from behind one of the houses.
I jumped back a little at the sight. Not because of what I saw; surprise was more the reason. It was a young man, hunched over, displaying his feasting for all to see. There was quite a puddle under him, and four empty bottles left of him. I stood there; not knowing what to do, while he decided to build a museum of half digested, dark celery colored chunks of food right there behind the house.
He stopped when he noticed someone behind him. His eyes rolled up to his forehead; he tried to steady his stance, but failed, and fell onto me, the more liquid version of what was on the ground dripping on my shoulder as he tried to speak.
By now there was a thickening sluggish muli-colored trail racing from my shoulder to my lower back. I could feel it sinking in and slowly hardening on my skin.
"Grrrr-eeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk EEEEEEEEEEghh Grrrrrrrr-," he breathed at me with his beastly breath. I inched away from his face as I tried to get him to stay standing. Who was this wasted guy? No one I knew, for sure.
He finally stood, holding on to a thin and frail tree. "Greeks, nnnnn---eaaaaaaaaaaddddd.....to telllllllll.....t-cooooooooommmmmm-—," he tried to finish when all of a sudden he went at me and cleansed his stomach of any remains of the remains of food and ale from the celebration.
I stood there, motionless. I tried to run my fingers through my hair, but that was almost impossible with the ex-contents of the man's stomach sprawled all over my head, arms, chest, and hips. Ate quite a lot, he did, eh?
"Go home, sir. No need to wake up everyone this hour at night."
"Naaaaa....shoooooot....oppppppeennnnnnnn ggggggg....." he stopped to take a breath. What was he saying, anyway? He inhaled, and then exhaled through his mouth, letting out quite an odor. "...aaaate."
Ate? Well, obviously he did enough of that, no? I had all the proof now solid on my clothes and body, thank you.
"Shoot? Shoot who?"
The man spit some thick paste on the ground. He aimed at my feet. I pushed him away hard. He got close to my face, then gave me the dirtiest look in the whole universe. I felt like taking a long swim, even more than I did before.
I stopped for a second. I looked over where I saw the spectacle earlier. "Shoot there?"
"You Trrrojan!"
"Aren't you?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Quickly I stumbled over back to the house and got my bow and arrow. But it was too late. He was armed.
He shot at me, but because of his mental state he got me in the leg. I tried to launch myself at him; to make him collapse, but he fell before I had a chance to do it myself, and so I landed face first in the half dry puddle.
I felt some go up my nose, and I tried to spit most of it out. I still had my bow and arrow, so I shot at him. I didn't want to kill him yet, just to make it so he won't get away.
He, for starters, was the spy.
After he spit, something in my mind clicked and I realized that he was sending some kind of message. And that spoke for itself. It pointed to spy.
I heard ruffles by the horse standing still. I saw men exiting the horse! I shuddered with worry. No, I had to be brave. I had to stand up for what I believed.
I saw one jump off the leg of the horse, and land on the ground. I aimed for him. I missed, but he didn't. He missed the other wound by about half an inch, so I yipped in pain. I stuck two fingers over both bloody spots, as I tried to make the pain stop shooting up my leg. The Greek was standing over me, and was about to finish me as I jumped to my feet and punched him with all the strength left in my body. I got his jaw, and it made a ka-tunk sound as he fell to the dusty ground, a blood trail carrying three broken yellowed teeth.
By now people emerged from their houses, answering my screams for help. Other soldiers took care of the vomitting man, while the one who saw me cry stopped and looked at me once more. "I knew you were a lady. But such a lady as you mustn't fight with the men."
He obviously got the message that I took that as an offense, so he tried to back off. "And why not?" I retorted at him.
He just shook his head and walked off to the men huddled by the spy.
Then I saw a familiar face exit the door from my house. My brother. I ran to him and embraced him, failing to realize how filthy I was. He made a horrible grimace, so I inched away, and muttered, "Apologies."
I walked over to the guy whose jaw I shattered, and shot at him once more, just to make sure he was done. Just after I did that, I heard a herd of wild gurgles and yells enter Troy. Someone must've opened the gate.
All of our forces were ready to attack the Greeks. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't take anyone's life unless they tried to take mine. It is a painful subject for me, remembering the killing, and the blood flowing in streams on the floor, but you have to understand, it was me taking their life so that they wouldn't take mine.
One man came at me with a long sharpened branch. He saw my bloody ankle and stabbed me in the same place. The third time my foot was injured this night. Then he noticed my smell and wiggled his nose in disgust. I got some nice phlegm in my mouth and spat it in his eyes. It was the least I could do to keep him from stabbing me more.
I tore off some cloth off my stained skirt and bandaged my ankle and foot. It went through so much I'd probably have to get it off in about a month from all the filth and dust that entered it.
It made it better. So I went back to fighting.
By now it was early morning, and most people were on the ground, wounded or dead. You had to be very careful to walk without stepping on anyone. I walked through the piles of people, until I saw a couple of familiar faces. I tried to help everyone, but as I did that, I realized that lying maybe a foot away from me was King Priam. I stumbled over there, trying to help him. With a bruised face and blood slowly trickling out of his temple, I knew the answer to my worst fear. Our king was dead. I got him some water, I don't know why, though. His mouth was open. I poured some in.
To my surprise, he tried to speak. "Thhhhannnnh yoooou," he mouthed, but I understood.
My mother was near someone I knew. Paris. Yes, the infamous Paris. He had a few scrapes on him. There were more people up now, others helped them. I heard some ugly screams and moans from pain, but tried to block them out. I walked by Mother and Paris, then to the infamous by now bench. I stood on it now.
I thought about this day. With pain stringed through me, stranger's blood on my hands, the solidated vomit. I thought about if this was what I wanted to achieve. We won, that was obvious to anyone. And I stood on that bench, thinking about the dead King Priam, about Helen who probably didn't know this has happened, about my mother and Paris. I was still standing there when hours later my brother came up behind me, and said quietly, "Helen left Paris. She said she never loved him."
I snickered. Wasn't that so obvious? She didn't know what love meant, Helen didn't. I doubt she knew what had happened because of her. This war was a memorable highlight in my life. And in my heart, I knew I accomplished what I wanted.
What that was, I still am not that sure.
Four years later, I walk with scars, not just on my leg. I live with pride, too. I went after what I believed and what I wanted. I proved what a fake Helen was; she was hiding out somewhere now, since she's been so humiliated after breaking it off with Paris. Paris got quiet. We have a new king, King Priam's