Ok, so, for your own sake, don’t think about Achilles.
Don’t think about Achilles arriving in the afterlife, jumping from Charon’s skiff before’ it’s even hit the beach, looking around in expectation.
Don’t think about Achilles, still filled with determination, moving, almost running through the crowd of souls in the plains of Elysium, looking for the one face he’s been longing for.
Whatever you do, don’t think about when he slows, when he starts calling Patroclus’ name, worried, angry, panicked, over and over until his voice is raw.
Don’t think about when he realizes that Patroclus isn’t there. That his soul must still be on earth, a world away yet again. Don’t think about his legs giving out, his cries, the way he pulls his hair and throws off the armour he no longer needs.
Don’t think about how he curls up, face and hands pressed against the cold, dark earth of the underground, cursing his fate. Cursing the world.
Don’t think about how he cries, like he cried before he died, without hope of ever stopping.
Don’t think about Achilles, desperate, making his way from Macaria, the goddess of burials, to Melinoë, the goddess of ghosts and lost souls, all the way to Hades, lord of the dead, and Persephone, Goddess of the earth, begging them all to bring his love to the realm of the dead where he belongs. Don’t think about them all turning him down, unable to do ask he asks, bound by the rules that govern the world.
Whatever you do, don’t think about Achilles sitting by the river Styx, staring into the dark, clinging to the small hope that Patroclus might come on the next boat.
Don’t think about Hector finding him there. Don’t think about Hector, stripped of the power and privilege, of the hurt and anger that life holds, sitting down next to the man that killed him, and offering his apology for having done this to him.
Don’t think about Achilles, tired, worn and grieving Achilles, apologizing in turn for the way he acted after Hector’s defeat.
Do not think about Hector’s hand on Achilles’ shoulder as they sit together, looking at the water, Hector figuring that Achilles did spare him, giving him ten more years of his life than he really ought to have had, whether intentional or not.
Don’t think about Achilles, alone once Hector has left him again, staring at the water, knowing a single drop on his lips will take the pain away, will drive all memories of his life from him, including the ones of Patroclus.
Do not think of how he cries, still and quiet this time, on the barren shore, finding he can not do it, for to lose his memories is to lose all he has left of him.
Instead, think of the day that the boat comes across the water, for the thousandth time since Achilles arrived, yet this time it is different.
Because there is a light on the boat, small and flickering like a candle in a storm, but it is there.
Do think of how Achilles calls his name long before he can actually see his face. Of how Patroclus calls back. Of how he jumps before the skiff touches the sand, into Achilles’ waiting arms, embracing him like he never intends to let go.
Think of how the underworld that seemed dark, cold and barren to Achilles before is now light, and warmth, and joy.
Think of how they are still there, together, until the end of eternity.
2087
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