Assignment #1: Time travel to the Trojan War

I believe the assignment was to create a fictional story of a specific length involving time traveling to some previous era. As I recall he was very strict about how long the paper could be--the first page had to deal with getting to the place and the last page with getting back, and the middle 3-5 with whatever you were doing in the past.  Unlike many teachers, he did indeed plan to take off points for being too long, so I had to cut a page or so.  Oh, the artistic concessions we must make to the Man.

Grade: 200 out of 200 points
Comments: "Great report!"

I glanced at my watch for the fourth time in five minutes--I was still staring at the same tile in the hallway floor that I had stepped on when the bell for 4a period rang nearly ten minutes ago.  Even though I was a senior and therefore one of the first class in line, it seemed as though reaching even the cafeteria doors was the impossible dream.  The student in front of my lurched forward and, excited, I practically ran into him when he stopped short barely an inch farther along.  I wanted to scream--what could possibly be taking so long?

My stomach was growling, spurred on by the vaguely--hopefully--edible smells wafting from the kitchen.  Today's menu was spaghetti with mystery meat, a knot-in-your-gut roll, and some crunchy peaches as dessert.  It wasn't especially appealing, but at that moment I would have taken anything rather than stand in the line any longer.  I sighed and resigned myself to the mind-numbing boredom of watching my classmates' shoes shuffle forward one millimeter at a time.  Trying to make the most of my time, I attempted to recall the notes from my lit class--we were having a quiz on some Greek mythology in less than an hour and I still kept mixing the names up.  As I stood there, searching for a mnemonic device to connect "Odysseus" with "wily, cunning Greek," I felt my eyes begin to slip out of focus...

It was the shouting that made me snap my head back up and stare wildly around.  Then I noticed that the shouting was coming from the men in skirts running by me--and that I was wearing a terribly itchy and unflattering dress with the sour, musty bouquet of unwashed clothing.

As I turned slowly around, my feet tangling on the long dress, I realized that I was smack in the middle of a large open-air courtyard surrounded by a high wall.  To my left was a large shantytown of claustrophobically-small, dingy huts, and directly in front of me stood a huge gate, easily several stories tall and made of wood with metal strips.  There seemed to be some sort of excitement on the other side of this gate, so, hiking up the scratchy, dirty skirt, I ran to follow the crowd.

I sped past the rickety-looking ladders and settled for the stone stairways, trying to avoid tripping and plunging off the side.  When I finally made it to the top, sore-footed and out of breath, I had to fight my way through the clusters of men to the edge of the barrier.  What I saw amazed me--yet seemed oddly familiar.

I was gazing out over an immense, grass-covered plain.  Dotted across this meadow were the remains of some sort of gathering--abandoned tents, smoking ashes, lots of garbage.  Of course, the thing that really drew my attention was the giant wooden horse on wheels staring me in the eye from not fifty feet away.  It was various shades of brown, having been patched together from what looked like odds and ends of wood.  Actually it was pretty ugly with nasty splinters sticking out everywhere and large gaps visible where the wooden parts didn't quite match up.  Near the base of the horse was a moving speck that appeared to be a man--another man in a skirt, running around like a fool and waving his arms.  I couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but several of the men from the city were cautiously trooping out to meet him.  I leaned back against the wall and tried to figure out what exactly was going on.

Everything around me certainly looked, sounded, felt, and--unfortunately--smelled real enough; maybe instead of daydreaming, I was hallucinating, no doubt the result of low blood sugar.  But no matter how many times I opened and closed my eyes, I never found myself gazing up at a bland, pockmarked school ceiling.  I was about to being my preparations for panicking when I heard someone calling to me.

"Cassandra! Cassandra!" An old man with a tarnished golden crown on his head was shuffling excitedly along the wall towards me. I had to assume that "Cassandra" was supposed to be me.  "The Greeks have vanished, Cassandra!" the old guy shouted, stopping in front of me.

"Uh, that's nice," I offered.

He was unfazed. "We've won!  After ten long years, we've finally won!"  He was doing a little happy-dance all by himself on the stone walkway, but I was the only one who seemed embarrassed.  Then suddenly it hit me--giant horse, city, Greeks...I groaned out loud as I realized that I had somehow been transported into a cheesy Disney family film, stuck in the ancient world until I learned the facts about the Trojan War.  I really wished that I had studied the night before.

The poor old guy--King, oh, what was it...P-something--stopped celebrating and glared at me.  "Don't tell me you have some dire prediction about how terrible this is," he snorted.  "Honestly, Cassandra, why do you have to always be so pessimistic?"  With that he hurried off to join the throngs of joyful citizens.  I knew that what he had said was true--according to the lecture I had (only halfway) slept through, Troy would soon be burned to ashes.

When I finally got back to solid ground again, I had figured out a few things: I was Cassandra, a Trojan with the ability to see the future--only nobody believed her predictions.  Actually that was about the only thing I had figured out--I still couldn't figure out who was who.  I was going to be here until the Romans invaded.  Then I saw a crowd gathered around the man who had been out in the meadow with the horse.  He had been bound securely by two Trojans in full armor, but the bystanders--among them at least two crowns and one scowling guy in long robes--were held even more tightly by the story he was spinning.

"...and mighty Athena demanded an idol be built and consecrated with sacrificial blood!" he revealed dramatically, and the crowd gasped.  I wondered how many of them actually understood what he was talking about.  He hung his head and sniffed, drawing sympathy.  "Our leader determined that I should be the sacrifice!"  The crowd clucked with empathy and I rolled my eyes.  "I ran away!  The Greeks were forced to return home, but they left their giant tribute to Athena.  Odysseus, that wily, cunning Greek, ordered it build taller and broader so you would never bring it through your gates...for if you ever did, Athena would bless you instead of us.  But now I beg you, King Priam, to have mercy on a poor Greek sheepherder and adopt him into your kingdom."

"Yeah, right," I said sarcastically, drawing several disapproving glances.  "You're just trying to help the Greek army ambush Troy!"

"Aren't you supposed to be back at the palace?" King Priam sneered, then added quickly, "Uh, pay her no mind, good Sinon.  What was that part about Athena blessing us again?"

Sinon the Greek quickly outlined his plans.  No one else seemed concerned with how eager he was--except, maybe, for the guy in the robes.  His scowl had been getting deeper and deeper until the king finally humored him.

"Well, Laocoon, what do you think of all this?"

"I still think," Laocoon began, "that you should destroy it now--I fear the Greeks even when they bear gifts."

I was about to second that when two huge snakes glided right into the crowd through the doors.  Before I could even scream the snakes wrapped themselves around Laocoon and squeezed, then slithered off.  The guy crumpled over like a used tube of toothpaste, and, well, that pretty much ended any other arguments.  I left the Trojans to pull the wooden horse inside the walls--the faster I learned my lessons, the sooner I could get out of this awful place.

With the help of a traveling poet I had gotten almost all my facts straight by that evening.  There was only one name I couldn't remember and it was driving me crazy.  I finally allowed the poet to go to bed and settled onto a bench racking my brains for the final name.  Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

Again, the sound that woke me was of shouting--but this time they were screams of terror instead of excitement. Looking out the doorway, I shielded my eyes against the glare--the tiny huts were ablaze, making the courtyard as bright as day under the pitch-black sky.  The hideous horse statue still stood in the middle of the yard, only a giant panel on its side was swinging in the night breeze--and the enormous gates of Troy were spread wide.

Soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms were firing arrows into the crowds from the top of the wall, picking off the hysterical Trojans.  Even more Greeks were pouring in through the gates.  I had to find a way out of this place before I earned myself a page in someone's history book.  There was no other exit in my room, so I gathered up the long skirt and ran for it.  Stumbling over stone tiles sticky with blood, I finally pushed my way into a small room with an altar.  I hurried towards the stone pedestal, only to trip on the dress's hem and fall flat on my face.

"Your prayers to Athena come too late, Princess," a nasty voice behind me said, and I turned to see a Greek soldier standing in the doorway.  He was wearing a ridiculously large golden helmet that looked like a two-dollar hood ornament, but it was the ridiculously large sword with the Ginsu blade in his hand that kept me from laughing.  I vaguely remembered that Cassandra wasn't supposed to die at Troy, but I wasn't comforted.  Then, finally, it came to me.

"Oh, shoot," I remembered.  "Agamemnon!"

"Do you have your lunch ticket?"

"Huh? Wha?"

"I said, do you have your lunch ticket?"

I blinked several times until the face of the lunch ticket lady focused.  I whirled around, accidentally hitting the person behind me, amazed to discover that I was somehow back in the lunchline.  Not only that, but I was also just inside the cafeteria doors, ready to pick up my plate.  I was home, I was safe, I had escaped the Greeks and I  could pass my lit quiz!

"Yes!" I exclaimed exultantly, pleased at my survival skills.

There was a pause.  Then the lunch lady suggested slowly, "Okay, then why don't you give me the ticket so I can punch it?"

Realization set in and I quickly dug through my purse for the card.  "Oh.  Uh, okay, here you go."  As she turned it right side up and made the hole I tried to explain myself.  "See, I was in ancient Troy, and there were these Greeks, and this ambush, and a giant horse, and--"

"Uh, that's nice," she shrugged, handing the ticket back.  "Next!"

Almost undaunted I moved forward to the counter and grabbed my plate.  On the other side of the plexiglass window, guarded by a plastic-robed cook wielding a fearsome stainless steel ladle, was a bubbling, steaming pan of home-brewed spaghetti, the blood-red meatballs clotting the chunky sauce and crowning the slimy, stringy noodles.  Nothing ever looked so appetizing in my life.