text: [Themes: edutainment, science fiction]
  
  Gower looks to the door of his office again—thirty minutes into office hours and not a single student has shown. He sighs and rests his head on his mahogany desk; sitting in his desk is a tedious task when no students appreciate learning the intricacies of the written word. His only company is a golden plaque that reads Dour Gower's power is to go back in time at least an hour!
  
  "No one is coming," Gower admits to himself out-loud, then sits up as an idea clicks on in his head like a light bulb. "Computer prepare for a time-hop!"
  
  "What author are we visiting this time professor?" His desk responds like Tony Stark's J. A. R. V. I. S.
  
  There is a loud whirring as the time dilator clicks on. Gower rolls back in his chair to make room for the wormhole—he grins as a passage through time opens. He grabs his interchanging map, which changes to show his exact time and location, and his ballpoint pen translator to translate both language and appearance to match his setting. Now he is ready to travel anywhere in time--but as per usual, there is an author he simply must meet.
  
  With only thirty minutes until remedial grammar, Gower furrows his brow and thinks for a moment, then responds with confidence:
  
  > say "Take me to Homer!"
  Gower steps through the portal and lands in the middle of a field; a dry heat washes over him and the sound of nearby waves remind him of his last summer vacation. Unsure of his exact location he pulls out his interchanging map to access the situation. According to the map Gower has landed in Turkey near the Aegean Sea--the year does not register, which has never happened to the time-traveling professor before. No one seems to be around, but he pulls out his handy ballpoint pen translator and clicks it on just to be safe.
  
  As soon as he places the device in his pocket four barbarians bum rush him from behind a clump of nearby trees; taken by surprise Gower turns to run, only to fall into the tall grasses. Unable to see his attackers he raises his arms to cover his face and braces himself. Gower hears a loud thud, the clash of steel on steel, and the sound of a sword piercing flesh: a grotesque sucking noise that he remembers from a brief trip to the Colosseum for the first Olympics. After that there is silence.
  
  Gower opens an eye but still can not see anything from his position on the ground. He stands tentatively and looks around. Standing before him in the field is a large man wearing a himation--this man sheaths a bloody broad sword and turns to face the empty field.
  
  "Seems like you would be in trouble had I not arrived my sure-footed friend," the man says, chuckling towards no one in particular.
  
  "Umm, I suppose so, thank you," Gower responds, looking round to see if anyone else is in the field.
  
  The man turns quickly to face Gower and laughs. "There you are! You will have to forgive me; you are so light on your feet I couldn't tell where you were standing."
  
  "Oh, you must be Homer...the blind poet."
  
  "Ha! No one has called me that before, I rather like it. I may include that in one of my songs--being blind has been the one disability plaguing me throughout my life."
  
  "Of course, feel free."
  
  "You didn't have a choice, but I do appreciate the kindness. Why don't I repay you with dinner? My home is not far, and my kids love visitors."
  
  "I would be honored"
  
  "Great, what is your name, good teacher?"
  
  "You can call me Gower--how did you know I was a teacher?"
  
  "Well, you don't fight like a soldier; you don't seem like a politician; you certainly aren't a laborer. So, what else would you do?"
  
  Gower follows the blind poet across the field and through the woods, marveling every time the man ducks below a tree branch or jumps over a creek. By the time they reach a small stone house with wooden shingles he is certain that the titian is not visually impaired. Walking up to the home signals four small children, two boys, and two girls, to rush the large man and each grab a limb to hug.
  
  After introducing Gower to his children and young wife, Homer excuses himself to help his wife finish preparing their meal. Homer's youngest daughter begs Gower for a story; she asks the professor for one that is like the stories her father tells them. Gower clears his throat and launches into an epic of a similar design:
  
  > Dactylic hexameter
  Dactylic hexameter, or heroic hexameter, is the meter of epics. Gower knows it well--even though it works much better with ancient Greek than English. He thinks for a moment, even for a mental giant like the time-traveling professor composing an epic on the spot is difficult; eventually, something pops into his head:
  
  But when the mother of dawn, rosy-fingered Morn, appeared, then were the people assembled round the pile of illustrious Hector. But after they were assembled, and collected together, first indeed they extinguished all the pyre with dark wine, as much as the force of the fire had possessed; but then his brothers and companions collected his white bones, weeping, and the abundant tear streamed down their cheeks. And, taking them, they placed them in a golden urn, covering them with soft purple robes, and forthwith deposited it in a hollow grave; and then strewed it above with numerous great stones. But they built up the tomb in haste, and watches sat around on every side, lest the well-greaved Greeks should make an attack too soon. And having heaped up the tomb, they returned; and then being assembled together in order, they feasted on a splendid banquet in the palaces of Priam, the Jove nurtured king. Thus indeed they performed the funeral of steed-breaking Hector.
  
  It is only after he finished that Gower realizes he is quoting the man who is making him dinner. Homer's kids, who had been leaned forward listening to Gower speak in awe, now relax in their seats. They talk about Gower's tale among themselves; after a moment the youngest asks Gower if he is an orator like their father. Gower could only agree--not wanting to admit he had plagiarized from their father in the future.
  
  "That was--epic--ha!" Homer says entering the room with the smell of olives, beans, and goat milk following him.
  
  "Thanks, but it was nothing," Gower responds, his cheeks flushing.
  
  "Nothing? Why, when my scribe returns tomorrow I might just use your story to conclude the one I am dictating--it happens to fit perfectly!"
  
  "Your scribe? Your Story?"
  
  "That's right, forgive me, to already know about it you would have to be from the future! I met a man named Nick, I know it is quite an odd name, but he has created something he calls Papyrus. I prefer to orate my stories--but the oddball truly believes that there needs to be a way to record my stories so that they do not need to be told each time."
  
  "Is that so?" Gower reaches for a notebook he always keeps in his pocket protector but thinks better of it given the situation.
  
  "Yes, he calls himself a 'scribe'--someone who writes down what another is saying. I can not call just talking to him oration, so I refer to it as dictating. It is a silly concept, but I am playing along for Nick's sake; he seemed genuinely excited by this idea."
  
  "What are you dictating to him?"
  
  "I am glad you asked! I am giving him my account of the Trojan war! Some time ago we sailed across the Chios Strait to visit the ruins of Troy and confirm my story is accurate; of course, Nick did not bring enough Papyrus to cover my tale of their journey home and is gathering materials to make more now."
  
  "Amazing! Were you able to find the proof you were looking for?"
  
  "Do I look like a man who would miss an important piece of evidence?"
  
  "You did tell me you were literally blind."
  
  "Oh, no, I am more figuratively blind; if you think about it there is more we don't know than we do know--I didn't think anyone would get that confused. Besides, it was you that pointed out my blindness professor!"
  
  > ask to see the proof
  "May I ask what proof you found?" Gower asks.
  
  "Sure, you can; after all, it is my duty to pass the truth of our history on with my stories. Any story is more believable when the proof is undeniable, follow me."
  
  Homer leads Gower into a separate room; this one is smaller with a simple stone altar constructed for both Poseidon and Critheis. In the center of the room, there is a large pedestal with a torch hanging above it--light from the torch is reflected up towards the heavens by a large object on top of the pedestal. Homer crosses the room in a few massive strides and hoists the object off its resting place.
  
  "Behold!" Homer says, holding a bronze shield out to Gower.
  
  Gower takes the shield, nearly falling forward from its weight when the not so blind poet drops it in his hands. A massive and detailed display of fine craftsmanship, the shield is made from Bronze, Tin, and Gold with a triple-ply shield strap edging. Depicted on the shield are two scenes: the first of the heavens, earth, and sea; the second of two noble cities, a king's estate. Both are elegantly carved into the shield with inhuman precision.
  
  "What is this?" Gower asks, unable to look away from the magnificent metalwork.
  
  "Why that is the shield of Achilles--forged by Hephaestus himself," Homer responds as if it were obvious from sight.
  
  Gower examines every inch of the elaborate metal disk; it looks like it was crafted by a god. "You found this in the ruins of troy?"
  
  "Not exactly, it was a few miles south of Troy at Achilles burial site."
  
  "It is remarkable!"
  
  "Undoubtedly, I just wish it would stop causing me so much trouble."
  
  "What trouble has it caused?"
  
  "Bandits or that's what I thought they were the first time. After they came back from the dead, I assumed they were Trojan spirits--they certainly dressed the part for that."
  
  "Tell me about these Trojan spirits." As Gower finishes speaking there is a scream and the sound of a door being kicked in.
  
  "Looks like I don't have to, they are back, again. I must kill them again tonight--that is four consecutive days that they have come looking for the shield."
  
  "You have killed them four times, and they are still attacking you?"
  
  "That is the problem with angering souls Hades has not yet claimed...Gower, can I trust you?"
  
  "Trust me with what?"
  
  "I could use your help banishing them for good."
  
  "How would we do that?"
  
  "If one of us can defend my family, the other can search for the burial site; If we pay Charon's toll their soul will cross the river Styx and this nightmare will be over."
  
  "I see, I suppose I do owe you, count me in!"
  
  "Perfect! It is up to you then Professor--you can take that shield to defend yourself and lead the spirits from my home, or you can use it to search for the burial site. Confronting the spirits will be difficult for a man such as you, but if you do not know how to prepare the dead for their journey into the afterlife searching for the burial site will prove futile. As a token of my thanks, you can also take the first written poem in history; Nick will be upset, but I am not sure it is worthwhile anyway."
  
  Gower steps through the portal and lands in the middle of a field; a dry heat washes over him and the sound of nearby waves remind him of his last summer vacation. Unsure of his exact location he pulls out his interchanging map to access the situation. According to the map Gower has landed in Turkey near the Aegean Sea--the year does not register, which has never happened to the time-traveling professor before. No one seems to be around, but he pulls out his handy ballpoint pen translator and clicks it on just to be safe.
  
  As soon as he places the device in his pocket four barbarians bum rush him from behind a clump of nearby trees; taken by surprise Gower turns to run, only to fall into the tall grasses. Unable to see his attackers he raises his arms to cover his face and braces himself. Gower hears a loud thud, the clash of steel on steel, and the sound of a sword piercing flesh: a grotesque sucking noise that he remembers from a brief trip to the Colosseum for the first Olympics. After that there is silence.
  
  Gower opens an eye but still can not see anything from his position on the ground. He stands tentatively and looks around. Standing before him in the field is a large man wearing a himation--this man sheaths a bloody broad sword and turns to face the empty field.
  
  "Seems like you would be in trouble had I not arrived my sure-footed friend," the man says, chuckling towards no one in particular.
  
  "Umm, I suppose so, thank you," Gower responds, looking round to see if anyone else is in the field.
  
  The man turns quickly to face Gower and laughs. "There you are! You will have to forgive me; you are so light on your feet I couldn't tell where you were standing."
  
  "Oh, you must be Homer...the blind poet."
  
  "Ha! No one has called me that before, I rather like it. I may include that in one of my songs--being blind has been the one disability plaguing me throughout my life."
  
  "Of course, feel free."
  
  "You didn't have a choice, but I do appreciate the kindness. Why don't I repay you with dinner? My home is not far, and my kids love visitors."
  
  "I would be honored"
  
  "Great, what is your name, good teacher?"
  
  "You can call me Gower--how did you know I was a teacher?"
  
  "Well, you don't fight like a soldier; you don't seem like a politician; you certainly aren't a laborer. So, what else would you do?"
  
  Gower follows the blind poet across the field and through the woods, marveling every time the man ducks below a tree branch or jumps over a creek. By the time they reach a small stone house with wooden shingles he is certain that the titian is not visually impaired. Walking up to the home signals four small children, two boys, and two girls, to rush the large man and each grab a limb to hug.
  
  After introducing Gower to his children and young wife, Homer excuses himself to help his wife finish preparing their meal. Homer's youngest daughter begs Gower for a story; she asks the professor for one that is like the stories her father tells them. Gower clears his throat and launches into an epic of a similar design:
  
  > Limerick
  The time-traveling professor's epic!
  
  Such a disgrace for something Homeric--
  
  It will never flow,
  
  Or keep the tempo
  
  --though it is silly and somewhat poetic
  
  Gower finishes his poem and smiles at the young girl--confusion spreading on her face. She looks at her brothers and sisters who only shrug. Without a word, she walks away as Homer walks in from the kitchen.
  
  "What in Zeus' name was that?" Homer asks Gower.
  
  "An epic worthy of being passed down through the ages," Gower responds.
  
  "Please leave."
  
  "Why? I thought we were going to ea-"
  
  "Leave! I do not know who you are, but only a fool would try to frame an epic like that. You are certainly not a teacher Gower."
  
  With that Gower is thrown from Homer's household; Homer taunts Gower as he stumbles away from the ancient Greek home--his insults are as beautiful and elegiac as they are hurtful. Gower activates the return sequence quickly when he realizes that he is lost in the woods. Several growls echo from the darkening woods as the wormhole opens and transports him back to his time.
  
  Back in his office, Gower can easily imagine the charismatic man he had met dictating his epic to a scribe. Gower already thought Homer was smarter, cleverer, wittier, more subtle than any other writer--but in person, he is even more so. Just thinking about it gives Gower the urge to flip through his copy of The Iliad.
  
  However, The Iliad is not on Gower's bookshelf; nor is it in his haphazard stack of random books he read last week--and he did read it last week. Searching Google reveals no results online for Homer, The Iliad, or Homeric Greek. Spinning--the world is spinning. Breathing is difficult; something is not right.
  
  "Computer, take me back to Homer!" Gower says, throwing his chair back.
  
  "Error, author not recognized," Gower's desk responds.
  
  "Homer, The Blind Poet!"
  
  "Error, no historical record of Homer found."
  
  "Impossible! I was just there..."
  
  Gower drops to the floor when it hits him--Homer's writing is lost forever. Wondering how big of a ripple Homer's lost writing produced Gower checks the state of the literary world. Shockingly, all Greek mythology has disappeared from record; additionally, all epic poetry has ceased to exist. Literature, art, and theater are severely damaged--very few written works of any kind even exist.