The Odyssey: A Narrative Fiction

Our fleet, empowered by a westward tailwind, glided across the wine dark sea for nine days and nights, as smooth as river stones rolling across seamless granite floors. We had just sighted Ithaca when I fell to exhaustion from nine days at the tiller. Greed overcame my men, and they stormed the hold beneath the decks where the bag gifted to me by Aeolus rested, and they ripped the sack open. Wind erupted from the bag, scattering my ships across the sea. Distraught, I run from below decks, seize control of the ships, and row west. As Dawn’s spread her fingertips of rose across the dim morning sky, my men flagged at their oars, weary from their long ventures. Eurylochus called from the crow’s nest “Land sighted on the northwestern front.”
We rapidly lower sails and disconsolately drift towards the island. The island teemed with vegetation; orchids bloomed in vivid rose and deep crimson. Vineyards packed with maroon grapes dotted the island. Fields of golden wheat spread across whole fields. My men picked one of the paradise's many suitable beaches and