PAMPHILUS AND EUPOMPUS · Summer 2026 · Torch: U.S.
19
They found Menaster crumpled on the floor, eyes shut but painfully awake.
“Hippias...” he groaned. “You don’t need to tell me. I suppose...those swine...chose Polyphemus’s painting.”
“Yes, I am afraid so,” Hippias said, not sounding very sorry.
Menaster’s face twitched, as if it pained him to swallow his own pride.
“Well...damn it, then. Let him prepare the walls...” he croaked. “When he is ready, I will examine his sketches to see...that they do not contain anything...too heinous.”
And thus the city, not the priest, made the decision.
Somewhere beyond the temple doors, Pamphilus—still pale, still faint-prone, still unbelieving—stood with Eupompus beside him, clutching nothing now but the knowledge that his painting had survived the gaze of the world.
Winning 12th Grade Submission of Creative Writing Contest
Artemis by Raphael Arjad