Calypso's Ulysses: A True Hero

For all Ulysses knew he was a hero. He was a god-like warrior and deserved much more than the petty life of a regular mortal. He fit the label of an immortal deity, his actions in the Trojan War and the ten years he had spent sailing on the sea have determined it. He had fought a murderous battle, and came out victorious; he defended his crew from most dangers that the gods launched at them. Ulysses was a god in his mind, and the images Calypso had shown him had showered him with pride. Yet, there still was a thin string attaching him the real world. The string was trying to pull him out of his little world; it was telling him to forget all the nonsense that the daughter of the Titan was drilling into his mind. The string itself was the smallest
image of Penelope and his son, for they were waiting for him back in Ithaca. Ulysses was drowning in his pride, and the knowledge that even Calypso believed so too, was enriching the thought of taking the plunge. He just needed to verbalize one single word, and his picture of being a god would become a palpability. However, the minor image of home and his family was preventing him to do so. For, the awareness of the occurring events at home was trying to eliminate the scenes from the log. Then again, he was a bit dismayed of what will happen to him if he returns home. The image of being killed by one of his sons was horrifying, and the want to escape that reality was vast. Thus, he did that only thing needed to make the tangibility vanish. “Yes, Calypso…my answer is yes,” he spoke. Calypso clasped her hands together and smiled. “You won’t be sorry, my dear. Now, we must get ready for the ritual!”
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Ulysses was perplexed of what the ritual was going to involve. He had spent the whole morning sitting in his nook, while Calypso had been ubiquitous.