Death is an interesting thing. One day, we are the men of Odysseus, the next, somehow in another body, another mind, of a suitor. It is weird because when we entered these new bodies, we had an uncontrollable love and desire for Penelope and her crown. She proposed a contest for us. We had to string the great bow of Odysseus and shoot a single arrow through twelve axe-helve sockets. No mortal man except Odysseus could complete this task. We lost all hope of being with Penelope when she told us the test. She left the room to let us work out the shooting by ourselves. We watched as many men went up and failed at stringing the mighty bow. When it was almost Galantrutus's turn, an old beggar approached. He said he wanted to see if he still had some good aim in him, after all of his years. After some struggle, the two men who could string the bow, Eumaeus and Antinous, let the beggar try the bow. The shriveled man, who seemed to have an underlying strength, picked up the bow and handled with care. He ran his hands over it gently and slowly, tapping it as he went along. After several minutes, the bow was strung, and he made it look easy compared to the other men. He aimed, pulled back the string and released sending a single arrow piercing the air like a knife. It went through every socket with ease and stuck into the wall behind the axes. We all stood in awe at this great spectacle and I knew this was no beggar. This was Odysseus. No other man could manage this, so it had to be him. I was right.
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