This is one of my pieces from the beginning of the year of 2011, I am writing as if I’m in Telemachus’ perspective contacting my father (Odysseus) for the first time. I’ve improved dramatically since then, but it was nice to pull this out of my computer.

Dear Odysseus, My name is Telemachus

Dear Odysseus,
Great King Odysseus, my name is Telemachus, contaminated with a pale poison within. I am your son. I’ve always wanted to meet you and I tell you now that the time is soon. Father, without your return my mother will be forced into marrying the suitors keen to be crowned. In her favor, I plan to set sail for word of your existence. I know you are alive, favored by the great grey-eyed goddess, Athena. I sense you are defeating enemies an ordinary man would never face in the surroundings of raging blue waves. Athena, who breathed soldiers much courage when in battle, will aid me with my journey. Father, I hope you find this letter sooner or later; I left this letter for you amongst your shimmering gold robe. Mother Penelope had always told me how it was your favorite place to keep your valuables; I’m sure you will look here once you return when I will probably be looking for you. The suitors are in our dining room as I’m writing this letter. They spend their day misusing your fortune; I wish mother wouldn’t have to endure so much pain and weight against her.
As my search commences, it is vital that the throne of Ithaca remains yours. These repulsive suitors thunderously laugh and quarrel in the dark grand dining table all day long. I can hardly sleep in peace now that the suitors will not stop; please come home father. The suitors devour your finest foods and feed their arrogance with wine. What order is stored without you? I can see their large loathing hands treat your food with such wretchedness. The thought of their hairy, bulky hands handling what belongs to you sickens me. From memory, I can taste their every large gulp of the luscious chicken. Coming to think of it, I am jealous that I cannot eat our own food without passing the dining table and dealing with such melancholy and verbal assault from these vicious suitors. I would love to have our own food, but walking past these vulgar suitors revolts me. Every meal served is divine; the soup hot, the meat fresh, and the fruits ripe. I am left with the burden of facing these men each day. Father, I pray for you every day; knowingly that you will be fine. Here I come.

Love,
Telemachus