Hectors Dream

A speck on the horizon
I strain my eyes to see
A chariot with two passengers
whipping frenzied horses
through a storm of dust
I shift uneasily in my armour
I am prepared
Yet stil fears cold sweat
races down my spine
closer now i see one of them
His golden helm flashing in the sun
I know them
They slow to a halt
and walk toward me
Its over
Achilles has come
And death is his passenger