In my high school Mythology class, we just finished reading Oedipus the King by Sophocles. In a nutshell, this play is an ancient Greek tragedy about a guy who accidentally kills his father and marries his mother, to absolutely nobody's knowledge until late in the play. I had an assignment to write five half-page diary entries from Oedipus's point of view, from whatever points in the play I so chose. I'm pretty proud of them, so I wanted to post them. (For the full scoop on Oedipus, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oedipus )
Today I became king of Thebes. And also I got married. An oddly AWESOME end to a year that started with me becoming a killer…but hey, it was in self-defense! So anyway, I accidentally murdered this guy, but he was trying to run me off the road. I didn’t mean to! So then I rolled into Thebes and saved them from this sphinx. Just so happens their king had mysteriously disappeared, so they decided to show me their gratitude by giving me the throne and their queen’s hand in marriage. She’s a TOTAL cougar, and totally hot. So yeah, I’m not exactly complaining about this set up here. And all because I could answer the sphinx’s riddle, which, HELLO, a four-year-old could have. Thebans are a few olives short of an olive tree, if you know what I mean. So now I am their ruler, and husband of Jocasta. She’s definitely a MILF, if I hadn’t mentioned that before.
Today some crackpot “prophet” Tiresias told me that I can’t look for the killer of the previous king, Laius, and then tried to accuse ME of murdering him (As if!). See, apparently when Laius went missing, nobody had time to investigate, because the sphinx was terrorizing the city – you know, until I swooped in and saved the day. Now the city’s women and crops have stopped producing children and food, respectively, and apparently it’s because Apollo is mad that nobody looked into King Laius’s death. So it was proclaimed that his killer must be killed or exiled, and Apollo won’t lift the curse until this happens. So I sent Creon, my brother-in-law (who reminds me of an uncle I was fond of back in Corinth, my birthplace) to get Tiresias, and this is how it turns out? Utter cow dung, I say. Wow, Creon. Way to be, way to be. I allowed him to share power with me (I mean, I TOTALLY could have had him killed or exiled years ago) and he turns on me so quickly? ---------------------- (I censored some words to protect your innocence, scroll.)
Prophecies suck. A long time ago, when I was at some required banquet thingamabob in Corinth, this guy came up to me and told me (COMPLETELY unsolicited, by the way) that I would someday kill my dad and marry my mom. Excuse me, but EWWWW! No freakin’ way. It’s just too impossible! I thought I was safe once I left home. I figured as long as I stayed in Thebes and never saw my parents again, I could escape fate. I’m kind of a few olives short of an olive tree myself, sometimes. (You can’t tell, scroll, but I’m shaking my head at my own stupidity.) This messenger from Corinth came gallivanting into Thebes today and brought some news. King Polybus of Corinth died in his sleep, leaving me, his son, to be the ruler of Corinth. So now I’m technically a king of two cities, I guess. Hey, cool! And I didn’t kill him, so that part of the prophecy didn’t come true! Today’s turning out to be actually pretty great! Now I just have to avoid ever seeing my mother again (so I suppose I’ll have to turn the Corinthian throne over to somebody…drat.) Hopefully tomorrow will be as great as today!
Today was DEFINITELY not as great as yesterday. My whole life has been a lie! So, turns, out, SURPRISE, I’M ADOPTED! Thanks Mom, thanks Dad, for TELLING me that. And GUESS who my REAL parents are! Just GUESS, scroll! MY WIFE AND HER EX-HUSBAND!!! YES! I AM AN UNWILLING PERPETRATOR OF INCEST! I can hardly bear the shame!!! My mother/wife and father heard the same prophecy as I did, so they decided to get rid of me. Again, THANKS. So that traveler I killed? Mhmm, that was my ACTUAL FATHER. Score one for die Prophezeiung! And Jocasta, my MILF-wife? Yeah, MILF is WAY too literal in this scenario! EW EW EW EW!!! Score two for die Prophezeiung! I’d really like to just go die in a hole right now. I mean really, that seems like the most beneficial course of action.
Please pardon my handwriting, as I can no longer see. I decided that my incestuous, patricidal self needed to suffer, so I stabbed my eyes out. With my wife/mother’s cloak pins. Oh yeah, by the way, she’s…dead. She couldn’t stand it, so she committed suicide. MY. LIFE. SUCKS. SO. MUCH. She hung herself, and upon seeing this, I seized her golden cloak pins and gouged my eyes. I deserve to suffer. I don’t want to die, I want to die a thousand deaths in life before I die at last. (Wow, I’ve turned way emo since I found out I’ve been sleeping with my mother. Funny how incest does that to you.) I had a very grave talk with my dear daughter/sisters that they will never have happy lives because their father is a murderer. A bloody murderer! My son/brothers will get along fine. But Antigone and Ismene cannot claim this unblemished life for themselves. It’s all my fault. Tomorrow I shall ask Creon, who is now sole ruler of Thebes (which is what that git wanted all along, I’m sure), to exile me. I shall die my thousand deaths in anguished solitude.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
A Lonely Afternoon
So, if you follow me on Twitter, you probably know that I was supposed to have Color Guard practice last Wednesday, but nobody showed up. Unbeknownst to me, it was cancelled. Here is something I wrote while waiting - it's all nonfiction and exactly as it happened to me.
"I sit here alone. Have they forgotten about me? Color guard practice was supposed to start half an hour ago. There’s no one in the commons. I am utterly alone. It’s a strange feeling in this room that’s normally so full of people. Occasionally a soccer player or member of the track team will walk across the dully shining white speckled tile, and I can feel their gazes: somewhat curious as to why I’m sitting here alone, reading Phantom of the Opera, but I’m so far out of their realm of existence that they don’t really care to know who I am or why I’m here. My feet hurt, but I don’t dare take my shoes off and reveal my Winnie the Pooh socks. I already look like a ten-year-old, I’m sure. My shorts are eight or ten inches longer than those of ninety percent of the girls at my school, I know this shirt makes me look younger than barely-fifteen, and I am make-up-less and ponytailed. I look every bit the part of Little Girl Lost. And don’t forget pathetic. Even though the other Color Guard girls are nice (all whopping three of them), I can’t help but to wonder if this wasn’t a set-up, like in those cheesy cliché chick flicks. Although is embarrassment is what they’re going for, they could do lots worse.
A faculty member, vaguely familiar, walks along the perimeter of the commons and out the glass-and-metal double doors, not even noticing me. She wears a black coat with silver buttons down the front – like Miss Mary Mack, only not. This is a little odd seeing as how it’s sixty-five degrees outside. She also wheels an older-model vacuum behind her.
The grossest guy in school offers to buy me a soda, calling from the vending machine across the room. I had actually considered buying one myself earlier, but I shake my head no, a single harsh movement. I am so not in the mood to take charity from this creep.
The school secretary starts setting up tables. This concerns me. Is it possible practice is cancelled and I don’t know, because I forgot my phone at home? Fat lot of good it would do me, anyway. Only one girl, the other freshman, has my number, and her presence is questionable. It’s forty-five minutes past when practice supposedly started, and none of the other girls have shown up.
Track members start streaming in, in groups of two and three. Last week practice was four-thirty to five-thirty, and if it turns out to be those times again this week, then there’s only fifteen minutes left of waiting. But I was told three-thirty to four-thirty. I’m really starting to get actually kind of mad now. I’ve been sitting here while my sister had to walk home alone, and I actually have things to get done. I go to Mom’s tomorrow, which means I have to pack. I also have Fahrenheit 451 reading for English, but I’m putting that off. I probably should be utilizing this time by reading that instead of Phantom of the Opera, but there’s a written study guide to go along with the reading. Otherwise I wouldn’t have a problem with reading.
And now it is four-forty, ten minutes past when it might have started. So I give myself permission to go home.
"I sit here alone. Have they forgotten about me? Color guard practice was supposed to start half an hour ago. There’s no one in the commons. I am utterly alone. It’s a strange feeling in this room that’s normally so full of people. Occasionally a soccer player or member of the track team will walk across the dully shining white speckled tile, and I can feel their gazes: somewhat curious as to why I’m sitting here alone, reading Phantom of the Opera, but I’m so far out of their realm of existence that they don’t really care to know who I am or why I’m here. My feet hurt, but I don’t dare take my shoes off and reveal my Winnie the Pooh socks. I already look like a ten-year-old, I’m sure. My shorts are eight or ten inches longer than those of ninety percent of the girls at my school, I know this shirt makes me look younger than barely-fifteen, and I am make-up-less and ponytailed. I look every bit the part of Little Girl Lost. And don’t forget pathetic. Even though the other Color Guard girls are nice (all whopping three of them), I can’t help but to wonder if this wasn’t a set-up, like in those cheesy cliché chick flicks. Although is embarrassment is what they’re going for, they could do lots worse.
A faculty member, vaguely familiar, walks along the perimeter of the commons and out the glass-and-metal double doors, not even noticing me. She wears a black coat with silver buttons down the front – like Miss Mary Mack, only not. This is a little odd seeing as how it’s sixty-five degrees outside. She also wheels an older-model vacuum behind her.
The grossest guy in school offers to buy me a soda, calling from the vending machine across the room. I had actually considered buying one myself earlier, but I shake my head no, a single harsh movement. I am so not in the mood to take charity from this creep.
The school secretary starts setting up tables. This concerns me. Is it possible practice is cancelled and I don’t know, because I forgot my phone at home? Fat lot of good it would do me, anyway. Only one girl, the other freshman, has my number, and her presence is questionable. It’s forty-five minutes past when practice supposedly started, and none of the other girls have shown up.
Track members start streaming in, in groups of two and three. Last week practice was four-thirty to five-thirty, and if it turns out to be those times again this week, then there’s only fifteen minutes left of waiting. But I was told three-thirty to four-thirty. I’m really starting to get actually kind of mad now. I’ve been sitting here while my sister had to walk home alone, and I actually have things to get done. I go to Mom’s tomorrow, which means I have to pack. I also have Fahrenheit 451 reading for English, but I’m putting that off. I probably should be utilizing this time by reading that instead of Phantom of the Opera, but there’s a written study guide to go along with the reading. Otherwise I wouldn’t have a problem with reading.
And now it is four-forty, ten minutes past when it might have started. So I give myself permission to go home.
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