So much is left undone when we do too much! Time and the bell have buried the day. Unsure of how I'll manage to get up early, I'm writing this miniature Robbe-Grillet thing at 1 in the morning. Very easy to add a murder or two for some excitement. Wondering what made me think of Robbe-Grillet, whom I haven't read in thirty years. Yearning for the mice in Tous les matins du monde. Zen.

All I need to do is murder off a character, and the story will have some pizzazz. Better than television.

Culling the rye berries from her hair, Cassandra looked up at Hector. Dear, I know you're going to have a bad day. Everyone says Achilles is out to get you. From deep within my soul, I know he will kill you and drag you around Troy like a bad smell. Give me a little credit for my bothersome prescience, will you? Have another beer and spend the morning here. I'm not ready to lose you. Jokingly he says, Kadmus should tell the Greeks you're my girlfriend. Laertes would never forgive me, but that doesn't matter. Maybe it would be enough to make the Greeks go home in disgust. Not that I'd let you go with them.

Or maybe it would be better to go meet my fate. Playing war games is getting me down. Questions of honor are getting tiresome. Really, I think I'll have another beer and go meet my fate.

Sighing, Cassandra refilled his cup.