Killing Spree
(Suitors Doom)

Odysseus could feel her rage at these young men, these leeches, who had terrorised both her daughter and her husband while she was away, rise within her. This was unacceptable. This was unforgiveable.

Antinoos did not take Odysseus' threat seriously. He had one of the fine goblets of the household, made of gracefully moulded gold bedizened with bright jewels, in his hands and was tipping its intoxicating contents through his open lips. Odysseus knew where she wished to begin her bloody work. She released her arrow.

The arrow pierced through the young man's throat up to its feathers.

He fell backwards. Red runnels of blood flew from his nose, beading in the air before arcing toward the floor. The puddle shone like a reflected sunset.

Antinoos lay silent and still.

"You yellow pustules," growled Odysseus as she stood tall, no longer looking ragged or decrepit, "You thought I was never making it home from Troy. You plundered my house, bullied my family and showed nothing but contempt for humanity and divinity alike. Here lays the results of such arrogance."

The suitors looked about them for their weapons, but all had been locked away except those held by Odysseus, Telemakhe and the select servants now in the hall. Their fear rose to a crescendo, many turning green with its bile.

Before another moment could pass Odysseus had leapt to the staircase and pulled out two more arrows with which she killed more suitors. Telemakhe deliberately ran her spear through Eurymakhos first, before generally participating in the slaughter.

Eumaios had armed those servants who were to be in on the fight. They too began hacking away, body after body of destroyed human being fell in their macabre harvest. The suitors originally outnumbered the home army of Odysseus by ten to one, but in their fear and confusion they were herded and sacrificed by their assailants much as they had used Odysseus' cattle in her absence.

Despite the consuming passion that had almost totally taken Odysseus over, she was still aware of a few small thoughts she once had of wanting to escape the war, but somehow she had managed to merely bring it home with her. Hour after hour she watched the pitiable fear in these young men's faces as the light behind them went out at her touch. Soon enough the killing was done.

What a Ripper.

Copyright © 1998 Katherine Phelps