Troy…or not

“By the Gods!” snapped Helen, standing resplendent in the middle of the battlefield, “will noone ask me whether I want to go back or not? Even though I’m the one being fought over, no one even tries to ask my opinion about it!”

The two rival armies had come to a halt on either side of the legendary beauty, gaping at her in amazement. Menelaus was standing at the head of his army, holding an unsheathed sword, with his mouth hanging open, looking utterly stupid, as his slow brain tried to figure out why his wife was behaving like that. From the time he had known her, she had always been so meek and obedient, always listening to him and giving him whatever he asked for. Now she was a veritable lioness, standing there roaring away loudly enough to scare the hair off a man.

Now that she had grabbed everyone’s attention, Helen cleared her throat and continued none too mildly –

“I don’t know why you bunch of idiots seem to enjoy going to war like that, but I am NOT allowing this to happen. Paris only did what he did because I asked him to, not because he wanted to elope with me. Isn’t that right sweetie?”

Paris nodded meekly. He too had been fooled into believing this lioness was a bird of paradise. She had cajoled him so sweetly! But now… now she was so intimidating… He never knew when she would bite his head off. She’d even managed to make Hector wet his skirt.

Helen planted her hands on her hips and turned on Menelaus, who immediately shrank within his cloak. Agamemnon and Achilles, who had been flanking him, melted into the rest of crowd with Agamemnon looking like he was about to cry and Achilles looking sullen.

“I only asked Paris to bring me here because I wanted a holiday,” Helen said loftily. Menelaus didn’t argue. If Helen wanted a holiday, Helen got a holiday. “And the fact that you were sleeping with my maid. I just couldn’t stand that. If you’re willing to take that back, we can pack up right now and go home.”

Before Menelaus could protest, Achilles whined, “But what about the war? We’re supposed to be heroes and all that, and I want my bit of the limelight! I want to be known in history too y’know! You already have your place made!" Helen turned a steely eye upon him at that moment, reducing him to an incoherent blabbering idiot.

“That can be arranged, she said coldly, flicking a nonexistent speck of dust from her shoulder. “Now pack up! I want to be home by dinner time,” she continued briskly, clapping her hands and making shooing motions in the directions of the soldiers. The men didn’t dare say a word and scurried away to obey her. Within the next two hours, Troy was emptied of armies, and life returned to normal.

Back home, Helen commissioned Homer to write the story of the war of Troy, as it should have happened, with the details being supplied by her. Achilles was delighted, but Paris was a little indignant about being made the scapegoat, till he learnt that for a time in the manuscript he would also get to be Helen’s boyfriend. That cheered him up immensely. And all was well that ended well…

Behind You




When I sleep, I walk a different world. It's not a dream world. The land of dreams is an insubstantial plane of smoke and hallucinations. My midnight existence is a very real place, both like and completely unlike the daylight world.

This world of mine may be a dream world to you, in some ways. Just as the world of daylight is for me. You see, when I sleep, I exist in a half form of sorts. No attention is ever paid to me, and yet, without my knowledge or permission, I am used, abused and then ignored.

In the world of daylight, I am called a shadow. While the sun is the sky, my flimsy self attaches itself to a human and mimics it. I walk, talk, jump, eat, doze – all just docilely copying what you do without being aware of it, or understanding why.

But when the Sun goes down, your dream world – what I would call my place of midnight existence, comes alive. After all, this world of mine completely shadows yours. So when yours goes to sleep, mine wakes up. Only, we don't exist in colour. We're made up of greys and whites and blacks.

As the last rays of the sun dip beyond the horizon, one by one we shadows awaken from our trance. The shadow stuck to the man returning home from work, breaks away and melts into the walls. The one attached to the housewife pours itself down the kitchen sink. The ones with the children outside, slither away on the grass and hide in the bushes. And as our intelligence returns, our work begins.

We hoard, we gather – in warehouses, dark alleys, behind doors. And we watch. Watch humans make fools of themselves, destroy each other and destroy their world. Did you think there was a coincidence that places where crimes take place are all dark?

You see, we were not created to mindlessly follow you humans. Our worlds fight for space with each other, side by side. Therefore, it is in the best interest of my race to finish yours. So let me confess something. We get up to, what you humans may call 'mischief' in your own terms. Those misdeeds that take place at night? We are their agents, directly or indirectly.

A man thinks his wife is cheating on him, and abuses her. We planted the seeds of rage and insecurity in his mind. A teenager decides to steal. We poured the darkness over him, that drove him to desperation.

A lot of these deeds happen while humans sleep. Sleep walking? Bah. During the night, your limbs are as our own, as in the day ours belong to you.

Oh and one last thing. The murder that happened on your street, late last night? We did it. Or I should say you did it and we just had a hand in it.