A MEMORY OF WIND

A Memory of Wind

A Memory of Wind

First, this story finds its flaws, which is its empathy and joins. It shows you the worst of people, then the best, and then worse again. Until you realize you are only human. With each page that goes, a hammer, a chisel hits deeper and deeper, and that everything was expensive disappears. Until finally, Iphigenia stares in the face, grabs the heart and turns. Why do not you feel what you felt? -

The author weaves in silence comes and hooks his imagination almost before you know it. Iphigenia tells the tail of the last two days. His sacrifice to the Greek goddess Artemis is the latest step in a change that wakes you up as soon as her father accepts the deal, her oldest daughter is going to be sacrificed for the winds that transport fleet as it sailed from Greece to Troy.

My mother took me back to the store. She crawled under a blanket, as if I was a child. He took the ornaments of the wedding of my hair and stroked my hair until it was smooth and shiny on my shoulders. Orestes established by my side. He curled up in my heat like a sleeping cat, and wrapped his fists around my hair.

My memories are tipping me faster and faster. My mind is dark with just a few memories are lit, the lamps cast as small orbs of light over a hallway.

I walked into a lamp of memory: I'll drag as you left my room, down the stairs and porch. I walked in silence behind so you do not listen. We went into the forest. The fog dissipated in the grove, revealing men among the trees, their cries and sword-fighting hard in the cold, dark air. You were way ahead of me, as does his hequetai, exchange of notes and strategy.

Clasped hands on my shoulders. I looked into his face: two bearded young men irregular adolescents. His breath smelled like rotten fish. One was in his pajamas. The other wore a helmet and a breastplate, but nothing more. Under the shade of the helmet, his eyes were dark and guards.

They talked. Their voices were quick, unintelligible, drowned by the beating of the blood in my ears. His eyes were huge and sinister, big and white as dandelion before it crushed him under my feet.

Smells: blood, musk, new sweat. A short length, blunt-as a branch gave me to use as a sword, went to hide the white. Blindly pushed against my leg. "Stop", sent a child for another. "Here in this turn. A strong movement is gentle." Breastplate loudly against my flesh with a sound like thunder. My stomach, rotting like the smell of rotting fish filled with tears of fear. (Helen in the courtyard. "Come walk with me, the niece of" His daughter in search of Hermione, jealous and ignored.)

Rotten fish and ...