A Lost Eye and Spilled Milk

I knew not the man sailed from Troy. Upon the sunrise, I opened the door to a brightened field, some of the sheep roaming near the cave, but mostly out near their land. I gathered my things and set off to herd them, and to bring back to the cave some for milking. I do love their milk. Fine, curdled, and slow as it be. The warmth of its work holds in the long hours spent through the hills in its taste for hours, though it never lasts so long. The sheep is how they did it. Oh, if they could speak, I know they’d have warned me.

                I returned that day, sheep in the herd, bound for the cave for good milking. And I found them, ravaging my home. Cheeses, my it takes so long, and the earned smell of the cave from letting it sit in the dampness; they would take that from me. Grapes that baked of island sun, to be poured into the island water making fine wine, not as good as Noman’s, but a fine wine.

                They had taken to eating off another cyclops’s toil. In my work, they mock me for having no plow, no farm, but they would steal what I have made and demand a gift. A gift? To beckon Jove on me and claim to burden me with the need to give them a gift for soiling my home, no. So, I ate them.

                Not all of them, of course. That’s too much, and I didn’t have enough milk. I started with two of Noman’s people a day for breakfast. Bash their brains on the floor, where I milked the sheep. I could taste the milk in it, and I would not want for the rest of the day. Their innards, their brains, the bones, and juicy marrow, it was all quite filling. Two humans, I say, no more or it’s asking for trouble.

                I did this for a day or two, I think two, and Noman offered me wine. He said it was from his boat, and he wanted me to have it as a gift. They care so much about gifts. But as I was drinking it, he started telling me I treat them ill, that I cannot expect to have guests if I act this way. But I did not want guests, they just appeared and began taking my things. So, I drank the wine. I offered him a gift after he told me his name, Noman.

                “I’ll eat you last,” I said, “you can watch me eat all of them first.” Something like that is what I said, I can’t quite remember. But I thought that a fine gift for the thief he was. He gave me good wine, so I would let him live longer.

                That’s when he attacked me. I drank the wine and laid down with the sheep, warm as they are, with the thick wool. He stole my staff and his crew sharpened it to hurt me while I slept. “Help! Help!” I cried.

When the others heard they asked, “Someone must be causing you harm.”

“Noman is causing me harm!” I spoke. They laughed at me. A joke, it seemed to them, but I lay there, crying most of the night. Blinded, I took to the door and opened it, they couldn’t, it was too big. I put myself in their way. No way in or out. I knew they would try to go out with the sheep, so I checked them each time. The last one to leave was my great Ram, such a wonderful coat he has. Thick all the way to belly, as were most of them. They weren’t on the sheep, I felt them.

I spoke to my great ram, as he normally leads the sheep, but on this day, he lagged behind. We spoke and I felt that he knew my pain and hurt. He knew that mean Noman had blinded me and wanted to make sure that I was ok. He sat for a while, and then seemed to struggle to walk away slowly.

I’m not sure how they escaped.

He called to me from the ship once he made it back, which he also lied about, telling me it was wrecked on the other side of the island, such a liar, and a thief. “My name is Ulysses” he made known. He wanted the name to be known. He hurled insult to me, so I ripped off some of the mountains and threw it to him. I did not hit, but I wish I did. I wish harm to him as he harmed me. I wish his home was taken as he took mine. I wish him embarrassment and loss in front of his friends as he has grieved me by plotting and scheming against me. He does not deserve to make it home. I hate those Greeks.

The grand figure cloaked in shadow that Polyphemus had been speaking to rose from his ethereal throne. His cloth was of deep darkness found only in the sea from which his throne had risen. With a trident in hand, the figure walked over to Polyphemus, peered into his lost eye, rested his hand on his shoulder, and whispered into his ear.

“He will pay, my son.”

-The NFT Author