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 Euripides!"
  Gower steps through the portal and lands in a grim, gloomy cave; a cool, damp breeze carries the sound of nearby waves from a gulf visible out the mouth of the cave. Unsure of his exact location he pulls out his interchanging map to access the situation. According to the map Gower has landed in Salamis in a cave overlooking the Gulf of Aegina--the year is 427 B.C. No one seems to be around, but he pulls out his handy ballpoint pen translator and clicks it on just to be safe.
  
  Gower hears a low voice echo from somewhere deeper in the cave. With slight trepidation Gower moves towards the voice, hoping it is the man he came here to find. As the path narrows Gower is forced to slow his pace and shuffle sideways for several feet; after a few claustrophobic steps, the cave opens and branches in varying short paths that lead to small chambers--ten in all. Low and angry, a voice calls out again.
  
  Gower heads to the path where the sound appears to be originating from. Of the three chambers on this path, two of them are empty, and the third echoes the voice the loudest. Once the voice quiets Gower enters quickly, intending to meet the Greek tragedian before his voice fills the cave again; alas, it does not work out--this cave is empty as well. When the voice picks up again the acoustics are such that Gower can make out what is being said.
  
  "Those fools! That was another great work--I shall cease to write plays if these imbeciles can not appreciate them!" the voice says.
  
  Gower hesitates for a moment, but not wanting to have to search every chamber he responds, "Euripides, is that you?"
  
  "Sophocles, why have you returned? I told you I do not want a sick bastard who would procreate with is own mother hanging around my cave."
  
  "No, I am not Sophocles, my name is Gower."
  
  "Gower? That is not a name I know, who are you, stranger?"
  
  "I am a teacher who was hoping to meet the mastermind behind Medea and Hippolytus!"
  
  Silence is the only response the time-traveling professor receives; after a few minutes Gower calls out again--still no response. There is an echo that plays his words back to him several times, and he turns when he hears the sound of footsteps--no one is behind him though. Gower turns to leave and gets grabbed from behind; a young wild-looking man now stands over Gower with a hand covering Gower's mouth and a knife raised high.
  
  "No teacher would think of my plays as brilliant--for there is talk of me being exiled--so tell me, Gower, who are you? Tell me the truth, lest I kill you, and pray to the gods I do not kill you anyway," Euripides says, moving his hand so Gower can speak but not escape.
  
  Gower takes a second to compose himself and responds:
  
  > It wasn't a lie
  "I am a teacher," Gower says, "I am not from Athens though."
  
  "I see," Euripides responds, loosening his grip slightly, "So you are from Macedonia?"
  
  "Umm...yes, yes I am from Macedonia"
  
  "Fascinating, I had heard that my plays were more accepted there, but I never thought someone would travel from Macedonia to Salamis to seek me out. What do they think of Medea?"
  
  "Frankly, I think Medea is overrated; Hippolytus has a more interesting protagonist."
  
  Euripides laughs and releases the professor. "So they sent the village idiot to invite me to their kingdom, brilliant!"
  
  "I don't know if I would go that far, I like Medea, it is fine enough."
  
  "I suppose everyone is entitled to an opinion--even if it is wrong."
  
  "I guess we will have to agree to disagree on this matter. Will you be leaving Salamis for Macedonia then?"
  
  "Alas you are right, not everyone can be clever. I will leave Salamis and Athens eventually; Socrates may be willing to stay in Athens, but I am leaving before they decide to execute free-thinkers."
  
  "Might be a good idea..."
  
  "Finally we can agree on something! What is your name, good teacher?"
  
  "You can call me Gower."
  
  "Gower, the wise teacher who can't appreciate the genius that is Medea. I like that title--it has a nice ring to it."
  
  "Why are you so fixated on convincing me Medea is better than Hippolytus?"
  
  "I am glad you asked!" Euripides grins as he pauses to inhale. "While Hippolytus was a great story to counter the blasphemy that is Oedipus--which I thought was a terrible idea since Sophocles first conceived it--Medea is much more. I only wrote Hippolytus to create a play where the protagonist had the sense not to lay with his mother. Medea is a warning to preserve our culture and way of life!"
  
  "Well more of your plays survived in my ti--err--Macedonia; what do you mean by Medea being a warning?"
  
  "Don't you see it? Woman are married while they are young and beautiful, only to be discarded when they are older and raising our children. What do we think will happen? Medea was the first woman to rebel against the system, and the gods were on her side; I know more women will join her if we do not change our culture to respect them."
  
  "You say that as if Medea were real and alive today."
  
  "She is, I have seen her! She still serves as the priestess of Hecate--a sorcerer with intoxicant power. Her chariot met me here five years ago; a year before the City Dionysia Festival that started my fall from Athenian grace. She came to ask me to tell her story throughout the ages."
  
  "She asked you to write the play?"
  
  "Yes, that is why I was sure I would win the contest at the Festival that year; Hecate's favor was with me, but Dionysus and the Athenians were against me. Thank the gods Sophocles did not win with his drivel."
  
  "Have you seen her since then?"
  
  "Sadly no, but I know why you ask Gower. Come with me, I will show you proof that I did not lie."
  
  Euripides walks towards the back of the chamber and a sheer rock wall. When Gower approaches the most tragic of all poets he casually slides a hand into a crevice in the stone and pushes a false wall aside. A narrow, dimly-lit passageway leading deeper into the cave is exposed; Euripides strides inside the opening and disappears into the darkness.
  
  > follow Euripides
  Gower takes a few shaky steps into pitch-blackness before his eyes adjust; eventually, he can barely make out the outline of Euripides, who walks as though he can see in the darkness. Euripides leads Gower down a straight path for several hundred feet before stopping at another rock wall. This wall is also pushed aside by the Greek tragedian--flooding the path with blinding light.
  
  Once Gower's eyes adjust to the well-lit room he marvels at the collection of papyrus scrolls that are scattered throughout it; there is little else in the room other than a small table with a single stool. Illuminating the room is a single lantern that radiates a brilliant, steady light. This lantern does not appear to be lit by a candle--drawing Gower's attention to it immediately.
  
  "What is in that Lantern? That does not look like a flame," Gower says.
  
  "You have a good eye, Gower, this is no ordinary lantern; rather, it is a treasure priceless beyond compare," Euripides responds.
  
  "Hidden in plain view--that is always a nice touch."
  
  "Yes, what better way can you think of to both hide and show off something so brilliant!"
  
  "I can't, but to be fair I do not even know what it is."
  
  "True." Euripides takes the lantern off a simple hook and places it on the table. "This is something I can not tell you about Gower; this is something you must see for yourself!"
  
  With that, the tragedian opens the lantern to reveal two large scales. They are brilliantly golden, extremely hard, and seem to radiate light. Each one is like a high-powered LED flashlight shining in all directions. Looking directly at them, while necessary for analysis, hurts Gower's eyes; he is only able to note that they look reptilian but are too large for any reptile.
  
  "These scales are from the dragons that pull the chariot of Medea--they each dropped one when they visited me," Euripides says.
  
  "Incredible," Gower says, running his fingers along the scales ridged surface. "Have you shown these to anyone else?"
  
  "Gods no, that would only invite thieves and bandits."
  
  "I suppose you are aright, it is a shame the rest of the world can not admire these though."
  
  "I agree..." Euripides is quiet for a moment, then footsteps in the passageway that serves as the only exit to the room draws his attention. "Speaking of bandits, it looks like we are no longer alone."
  
  "Who else knows about this place?"
  
  "No one."
  
  Euripides takes a nervous glance around the room and collects a few things; he stashes papyrus scrolls un every nook and cranny in the rock walls. Eventually, in hiding the scrolls he reveals a small flat-bottom pyxis--it is roughly the size of a loaf of bread with the lid firmly in place. Walking over to Gower, Euripides places the pyxis in the professor's hand.
  
  "Gower, this may be a simple lot of bandits, or it may be the Athenians here to destroy the works they call heresy; either way Medea must survive! Promise me you will preserve this original manuscript in Macedonia," the tragedian says.
  
  "Do you have a copy of Hippolytus I can take as well?" Gower asks.
  
  "Hippolytus? At a time like this, you are asking for my inferior work? They can burn Hippolytus as long as Medea survives!"
  
  Gower sighs and shakes his head before responding to the stubborn tragedian:
  
  Gower steps through the portal and lands in a grim, gloomy cave; a cool, damp breeze carries the sound of nearby waves from a gulf visible out the mouth of the cave. Unsure of his exact location he pulls out his interchanging map to access the situation. According to the map Gower has landed in Salamis in a cave overlooking the Gulf of Aegina--the year is 427 B.C. No one seems to be around, but he pulls out his handy ballpoint pen translator and clicks it on just to be safe.
  
  Gower hears a low voice echo from somewhere deeper in the cave. With slight trepidation Gower moves towards the voice, hoping it is the man he came here to find. As the path narrows Gower is forced to slow his pace and shuffle sideways for several feet; after a few claustrophobic steps, the cave opens and branches in varying short paths that lead to small chambers--ten in all. Low and angry, a voice calls out again.
  
  Gower heads to the path where the sound appears to be originating from. Of the three chambers on this path, two of them are empty, and the third echoes the voice the loudest. Once the voice quiets Gower enters quickly, intending to meet the Greek tragedian before his voice fills the cave again; alas, it does not work out--this cave is empty as well. When the voice picks up again the acoustics are such that Gower can make out what is being said.
  
  "Those fools! That was another great work--I shall cease to write plays if these imbeciles can not appreciate them!" the voice says.
  
  Gower hesitates for a moment, but not wanting to have to search every chamber he responds, "Euripides, is that you?"
  
  "Sophocles, why have you returned? I told you I do not want a sick bastard who would procreate with is own mother hanging around my cave."
  
  "No, I am not Sophocles, my name is Gower."
  
  "Gower? That is not a name I know, who are you, stranger?"
  
  "I am a teacher who was hoping to meet the mastermind behind Medea and Hippolytus!"
  
  Silence is the only response the time-traveling professor receives; after a few minutes Gower calls out again--still no response. There is an echo that plays his words back to him several times, and he turns when he hears the sound of footsteps--no one is behind him though. Gower turns to leave and gets grabbed from behind; a young wild-looking man now stands over Gower with a hand covering Gower's mouth and a knife raised high.
  
  "No teacher would think of my plays as brilliant--for there is talk of me being exiled--so tell me, Gower, who are you? Tell me the truth, lest I kill you, and pray to the gods I do not kill you anyway," Euripides says, moving his hand so Gower can speak but not escape.
  
  Gower takes a second to compose himself and responds:
  
  > tell him the whole truth
  "Fine," Gower says. "I am a time-traveler from the future; I came back in time to save your plays for future generations."
  
  "I see," Euripides responds, loosening his grip slightly. "So Aristophanes sent you from Athens then, what a fool."
  
  "What?"
  
  "You expect me to believe you are some follower of Kronos who came back in time to preserve my counter-cultural plays? If Aristophanes does not want underrepresented members of our society to have a voice that is fine, but him devising such a ploy such as this is truly his greatest comedy."
  
  "No, I am from the future--the comic playwright from Athens did not send me."
  
  "If you are truly from the future tell me which play of mine is my greatest work--which one future generations will all read."
  
  "I like Hippolytus best."
  
  "Fool! You do not know the depth of my genius!" Euripides lowers his knife and throws Gower onto the smooth stone floor. "Return to your 'time' follower of Kronos."
  
  With that, the tragedian disappears into the cave. Gower searches each path and chamber, but he does not find a trace of anyone else in the cave. Having nowhere else to go, he activates the return sequence.
  
  Euripides was far more angry than Gower imagined him, but the tragedian did puncture pretensions. As the wormhole opens and transports Gower back to his time he replays their conversation over in his mind; back in his office, he scans a bookshelf for his copy of Medea--itching to read it again after meeting the cynical wise-ass who Gower can picture eye-rolling towards his predecessors.
  
  However, Medea is missing from Gower's bookshelf; logging on to his personal chooseyourstory.com profile reveals his Hippolytus fan-fiction is also gone. A quick Google search yields no results online for the legendary plays. Spinning--the world is spinning. Breathing is difficult; something is not right.
  
  "Computer, take me back to Euripides!" Gower says, throwing his chair back.
  
  "Error, author not recognized," Gower's desk responds.
  
  "The most tragic of poets!"
  
  "Error, an author carrying such a title is not found."
  
  "Impossible! I was just there..."
  
  Gower drops to the floor when it hits him--Euripides' writing is lost forever. Wondering how big of a ripple Euripides' lost writing produced Gower checks the state of the literary world. Shockingly, most dramas have disappeared from prominence; additionally, all references to heroes as ordinary people in extraordinary situations have ceased to exist. Authors also tend to never focus on the inner lives and motives of their characters.