Letter from Kreon to Jocasta [“Oedipus The King” by Sophocles]

[Editor’s note: This letter is constructed purely of own words, but is based on the work by Sophocles, Oedipus The King.]

Dear sister,

I understand that your situation is complex, and I’m determined to help you to my best abilities. I do not wish to test the strength of our bond through blood; nor your love for your dear husband, Oedipus, yet I ask of you to consider this as you read. His mind is not currently at its right state; his words origin from emotions and are filled with hatred and confusion. You must believe me when I say that his claims against me are false. Do not worry on my behalf; your thoughts should be for Oedipus who in all hope should come to the realization of how he has condemned himself. I do not wish to exile my brother-in-law, yet he leaves me no choice. My fear, nevertheless, lies on Oedipus’ reaction to the truth. I am certain of this as my journey to Apollo enlightened me and Teiresias‘ visit confirmed my concerns. It is as they say; your husband is the man Thebes must banish. Do not fear the consequences your husband will face, I shall see to it to spare his life is possible. The household slave that witnessed the murder is soon arriving and will bring light on this disastrous matter. Oedipus has no choice but to see the truth, he cannot argue his way out. You must talk to him, dear sister. Only your reason can make him understand that he is the man Apollo speaks about. Your disbelief in fate and prophecies are understandable, yet you must see the proof laying before you. The stories told are true, even Oedipus himself starts to see their connection.


Your brother,


Source: http://www.mshogue.com/AP/oedipus.htm


One Sleeps at Night

It was absolute darkness in the entire house. Completely silence. The wind raged outside the house, violently. Everyone was sound asleep, except for Erica. Wide awake she laid in bed, struggling to find the sleep she desired. Her thoughts would stay still, flew from each corner in the universe, full speed. School, friends, appointments, the next day, they all went through and back again in less than a minute. Dry coughs disturbed the air and she went down to the kitchen for some water. The darkness consumed her as she stepped down the circular staircase. The light blended her. After a little while her eyes adjusted and she found her way to the cupboard, showed some plates aside, grabbed a huge glass and opened the tap.

There was no water streaming out of the pipes.
An agitated sigh left her mouth and dragging her feet to the neighbor room she opened the tap in the bathroom. Closing up to three in the morning was not the time to become an amateur plumber. The sink worked, she filled the glass and drank. It was, unusual. It tasted different. Viscous and sticky was not how water should taste. Not even with the waste that’s supposedly dumped in the drinking water. There was an aftertaste of metal.. She looked down. What the hell could this be? It was blood. She jerked off, dropping the glass on the floor. The tiles were painted in a shiny dark-red color. She was not going to clean that up now. And what in the world was that? The taste wouldn’t leave her mouth, damn it. She turned and left the bathroom, this was more than enough for one night. Her brain had started to slack off, it was time to get some rest. The stairs were tedious and the couch much closer. She fell asleep within seconds.

She was in the attic. Dark, silent and stuffed. Not bothering to find out why she was up there, her feet walked. Everything was in the way and she knocked most of it down for every time she breathed. There was something she had to find, she had no idea of what, but she was in a hurry. Something touched her. It wasn’t her pushing an object that was in her way, this thing moved and stroke her shoulder. There was nothing behind her, she thought. A closer look revealed a miniature statue. It was the object she was looking for. Somehow she just knew, as if she recognized it. With excited steps her elbow managed to tear down an old lamp. It hit the floor with a crushing cling. There was another sound, behind her. While she turned around she noticed a gigantic black creature swifting in her direction. There were no feet to make steps, it was silent, like a spider, yet quick. Terribly quick. She backed and shards of glass forced its way through her heel. The pain rolled over her as a massive wave and cut into her mind.

She woke up in a snap, bathing in sweat. She was still in the couch, not an inch different from where she had laid down. The heat overwhelmed her and the feet automatically moved to the kitchen for water. She froze. Something held her. A force, something very strong. A tornado of winds went through her, releasing the winter inside her. On the far end of the kitchen fog was gathering. Swirling in a circle, meeting in the center. It grew thicker, and it started to shape a creature.  A being known too well in her mind. She must still be dreaming. He hadn’t left her. Petrified she tried all the ways to wake herself up, but it is challenging with a body she cannot control. The being was enormous, black and sharp horns on his forehead. The eyes poured out red light, beaming into her soul, his mouth was sewed together in a peculiar way, giving some room to speak, but not enough to utter words. The rest of the body was a blur, part of the smoke on the floor. Her heart skipped a beat, and quickly continued with a speed it never had had. The blood froze to ice and her skin lost its color. The creature moved towards her, a horrifying grin spread behind the threads and the eyes drilled deep into her bones. Her heart beat so hard she could feel it through the chest. Every cell in her body was ordered to react, to do something, but it was all for nothing. He was only a couple of meters away now. The heat hit her in the face, the sweat came. She felt powerless and her heart settled. Her mind protested wildly, but she felt, indifferent. The being was so close that the hair on her skin started burning. He was inches from her face. The eyes flashed into her own, and the last thing she remembered was the terrible grin and the flaming red eyes.

Then. She was gone.

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/thedude3000/3087999617/

Heart Blood

A little river’s formed. Slides downwards, slowly. One must wonder, is it time itself? There was no rush, clearly. What if I stopped it? If I wiped the river dry and hindered any more to come. Would the Earth stop spinning? Would time go backwards until it flowed once again? I let it stream, today is not the day for experiments. You are awfully pale. Did my tears bleach your strong chest? I look at your chest. Once I could hear its movements. The purple shirt of sex would stretch and I could hear the buttons scream. I can see time come. Feeling your stomach with my check I open my mouth. I shall eat the flow of time. Put an end to all that is and hinder what is yet to come. It is no longer worth it. The future is empty. Time brings no good. It had a taste of metal, drilling into my tongue. Leaving marks. Burning.

Time was not unusual to me. Many times I had tried to reverse it, drink it back into my body. It would never help. But I thought. Maybe. Maybe just this time? The miracle I was praying for. I am petrified. Scared to death, but not my death. It has yet to come. Yours, on the contrary, came to early. I’m not ready for it…


She lies on the floor with the kitchen knife in the back. The radio pours out Rehab by Rihanna, a rather unusual song for that channel to broadcast. When she had turned it on I was expecting soothing tones from a calm melody. I had never really liked pop-music.
I had managed to spill on the expensive carpet she had bought. Obsessively she had managed to not get any stains on it. Oh well, too bad it had to be ruined in this situation. I might have kept it. Though, it’s not me to blame. We were going to get married. She and I. We were meant for each other, a perfect item, but she wanted to test fate. Thought she had met someone better, someone perfect. Bullshit! I was the only one for her. The only one that could ever love her this deeply, cherish her as she was rare. Only I. He stole her from me, that bastard. Blindly she would have followed her, into his neat little web. It was a trap, why wouldn’t she see? She was into it, that little whore. Wanted to be fooled, taken away from this paradise and into the devil’s layer. Away from me. One does not simply walk away from me. It took her a while until she understood, but by the time I saw it in her eyes they turned to glass. The time was up. Contrary to that bitch, I had learned.

I look at her. The blue-green eyes had turned pale a while ago. The hands were still reaching for me, or where I used to be. The knife had long ago found its place. Forced through her back and into the unfaithful heart. The skin on her chin had turned to sandpaper. Something cold ran down my spine, the goose bumps spread like a deadly sickness. Next to her ear was an insignificant tear, striving to reach her valuable carpet. I swiped my finger over it, stood up and walk over her body, across the floor and open the door. My back turns against the hall and I take a last look into the small living room. The memories flow back and my eyes start to burn. Facing the other way I walk away, humming the tones of Rehab by Rihanna.


The grin on that slim face gives me goose bumps. How could they not see, what could possibly cover they eyes with such a thick layer that they even came closer to the wolf? The growl of the evil heart roared in the shivering air. Change was coming, but it wasn’t headed in the right direction. The devils were winning and people were celebrating their presence. Naïve they believed they had found the good soul, the perfect person. Oh how they were fooled. Clinging hard to the thin arms and bones of the little creature, smiling along with wide mouth of a liar, they all truly had faith in what the monster could do. But what they didn’t realize was what they were about to do. Feeding it with love and compassion, giving it the warmth it didn’t deserve. It was getting stronger, got connections and pulled the tiny strings in its spider web. As a snake she would eat them after she was done. There was nothing that could stop her, the people believe.  Their eyes were gone and the hope had vanished and was replaced by the evil of a liar. A fake that spread nothing but pain and sorrow to the hearts of the true. Creatures like her had no goals, had nothing to aim for, only destruction. The future would never come would these things continue to roam the streets of the people. They had to be disposed. We will dispose of her.
No one will believe the tales of the truth. The words cut through their simple brains and make them function, make their eyes open, but they don’t want that. They just want to sit and chat, have fun and live in their tiny little words, thinking everything is fine and all they do is right. How could they possibly have acted wrong? All they did was feeding the monster of evil. How could they possibly have done anything that could lead to the end of the world, the end of all good? All they did was believe the lies, breeding a being worse than all others, spreading the hatred and pain. There is nothing wrong in being so stupid.














Source: http://www.123rf.com/photo_7820097_halloween-surprise–evil-man-behind-innocent-naive-girl.html


*Writer’s note: This is an old text that I haven’t looked over too much. It’s not finished, but I like it.*

Plutselig begynner hjertet mitt å slå hardt, veldig hardt og fort. Jeg slenger fra meg alt jeg har i hendene og begynner å løpe. Jeg løper raskt, raskere enn jeg noen sinne har løpt. Alle jeg ser, løper. Alle har like redde ansiktsutrykk, og alle løper sin vei. Den lille hjernen min skjønner ingenting, men jeg løper så fort beina mine kan klare.

Ut av klasserommet, ut i gangen, inn i hallen, utgangsdøren står rett foran meg og jeg spurter som en gal. Jeg venter ikke på at den sakte og knirkende døren skal gå opp, men suser mot glasset mesteparten av døren består av. Hodet mitt får et kraftig smell og jeg deiser ned på gulvet, jeg kjenner blod fra nesen min renne nedover og jeg får en ekkel smak i munnen.
Jeg snur meg for å se etter den digre russeren, men han er ikke her. I stedet for kommer klassekameratene mine spurtende. Jeg kravler meg raskt opp og sammen med de andre løper jeg forbi den knirkende glassdøren og ut på skoleplassen.
Nesen min renner for alvor nå og jeg er alt for opptatt til å tørke bort blodet. Det er en av de raskeste som løper først og viser oss andre veien. Vi forlater skoleplassen og suser inn i den tette, mørke skogen.

En liten gutt kommer opp ved siden av meg og sammen løper vi for harde livet.
Gutten stapper noe i munnen og når han tar den ut igjen limes øynene mine fast på lillefingeren hans. Blodet fosser ut og han gråter av ren smerte. Gutten må ha klart å komme seg ut av det harde grepet til russeren og jeg grøsser. Han skulle bare vise oss et triks med militærkniven sin. ”Ikke noe farlig, bare noe morsomt!” Det var dét han sa. Ikke noe farlig.
Dumme gutt! Alt for nysgjerrig, lente han seg nærmere mannen og meldte seg frivillig. Men ingen visste noe om hva russeren hadde i tankene. Ingen andre enn han selv.

Hjernen min må ha streiket for det neste jeg husker er bare blod. På pulten, på klærne, på gutten. Og skrikene. Alle skrek, men gutten overdøvet hele klasserommet. Skriket hans berørte oss alle og ga oss kun en anelse over hvilke smerter han ble utsatt for.
Jeg husker grepet og gliset. Grepet rundt håndleddet, den svære sterke hånden og det grufulle gliset han viste oss etter at han hadde kappet av guttens lillefinger. Og jeg hadde kviet meg for å hjelpe. Bare løp, løp som en annen tulling som bare brydde om seg selv. Men jeg løp for livet mitt…

Jeg snur hodet og leter etter mannen med de sterke hendene. Og jeg ser ham. En grusom kjempe! Stor, sterk og farlig. Det var alt jeg fikk med meg før føttene under meg forsvant.
Hodet dundrer i bakken og hjernen sender febrilsk ut signaler om å flykte.
Tilslutt lystrer kroppen og en sidevei kommer til syne. Uten å tenke meg om følger jeg den bortover. Det er ikke tid til å tenke, mannen kan komme når som helst.
Tankene blir skjøvet bort og instinktet tar over.


Plutselig kommer en liten tanke opp i hodet mitt og beina løper ut av stien og videre inn i treklyngen. De kan ikke løpe så fort nå som røttene stikker opp fra jorden og skaper et ujevnt terreng. Nå og da glir blikket mitt bakover, men det er ingen sterk, stor og farlig russer bak meg. Farten dabber av og smerten fra beina strømmer til. Jeg føler meg sliten og jeg vet at energitanken snart er tom.
Jeg må gjemme meg.
Jeg håper på et mirakel fra Gud, for selv om det er mange trær her, finnes det ingen steder å gjemme seg! Foran meg skimter jeg en liten bakke, og nok en gang legger jeg alle tanker bak meg og løper.
Opp bakken og… jeg bråstanser.

Foran meg står kjempen vi løp fra. Den grusomme russeren med kniven. Jeg blir livredd og jeg er på nippet til å gi opp. Gå fram til ham å si; ”Hallo. Her er jeg. Gjør hva du vil med meg, jeg gir opp.” Men jeg tør ikke. Kroppen min har hengt seg opp. Vil ikke adlyde.
Jeg ser ham klart og tydelig foran meg, men han har ikke den minste peiling om hvor jeg er. Men han ser ikke til å bry seg. Selv om jeg kun ser den svette ryggen hans, vet jeg at han har allerede fått fangst og at han smiler stolt til seg selv.
Jeg får lyst til å skrike av redsel når jeg ser hvem mannen har festet blikket sitt på. Jeg vil løpe, rope, hente hjelp! Men kroppen lystrer ikke lenger på ordre. Har en egen vilje.
Gutten sin kropp har også en egen vilje. Den har kollapset og vil ikke røre seg.
Jeg blir stående å studere ham. Slik russeren også må gjøre. Kroppen hans er spinkel og blodårene åpnes for fullt under den likbleke huden hans. Ansiktet hans er blodsprengt. Rød som en tomat. Tidligere i dag ville jeg pekt på ham og ledd som en gal. Men det er ikke tid for å le.

Jeg liker øynene hans. De har en så fin klar blåfarge så i noen sekunder glemmer jeg redselen og får lyst å gå bort for å trøste ham, men kroppen vil fortsatt ikke lystre. Synet går opp og ryggen til russeren tårner over meg. Redselen kommer tilbake og jeg skyver blikket ned på gutten igjen.

Håret hans er blondt, veldig lyst og må ha vært fint og de får øynene hans til å se enda klarere ut. Men håret er ikke så pent nå lenger. Hårstråene har klumpet seg sammen og viser at han svetter som en gris på hodet.
Selv kjenner jeg flere svettedråper renne langsomt nedover den glohete ryggen min.
Jeg har studert gutten i evigheter og enda har ikke kjempen beveget seg. Jeg får panikk. Jeg må gjøre noe! Hva som helst!
Jeg flytter på blikket mitt for å roe ned nervene, men det hjelper ikke. For synet som slår meg er mer enn grusomt.
Én tommel, to pekefingre eller var det en ringefinger også? Og blodet. Gutten må ha løpt, for blodet ligger spredt utover skogen og danner en svak sti. En knute samler seg i magen min og jeg vil spy. Jeg finner flere fingre etter hvert som blikket streifer rundt. Men det er flere enn ti fingre! Jeg er på nippet til å bli gal. Et halvkvelt skrik tvinger seg oppover halsen min og kommer seg ut. Russeren snur seg, og om blikk kan drepe hadde jeg vært et vandrende lik. På under et sekund står han ovenfor meg. Jeg føler meg som en snegle og det eneste som står i hodet mitt er å krype inn i huset mitt. Mannen gliser til meg. Jeg ser på gutten som for å få hjelp, men han er langt vekke. Øynene er vidåpne, men de eier ikke liv. Hjernen min jobber på spreng og jeg vil vekk! Vekk fra denne brutale jævelen! Jeg vil hjem til mamma, hvor jeg er trygg…

Et grufullt hyl fyller skogen og endelig reagerer kroppen min. Jeg snur meg brått, men mannen har allerede festet jerngrepet rundt håndleddet mitt. Jeg røsker med alle mine krefter, men han er sterk, fryktelig sterk.
Et nytt hyl høres, men denne gangen kommer det fra mine egne sprengte lunger. Han skvetter over den høye lyden og jeg slynger meg rundt. Men under alt oppstyret glemte jeg kniven og smerten fra hånden iler opp som en brennende kullklump. Men jeg har ikke tid til å jamre meg, løpe er det eneste som betyr noe.
Beina beveger seg raskt, men ikke raskt nok. Russeren kommer etter og han nærmer seg raskt. Panikken kommer, men jeg må holde fokus! Hånden min begynner å svi og jeg unner meg et raskt blikk på hånden. Kniven hadde skåret seg gjennom huden i håndflaten min og dannet en fin rett strek hvor blodet pumper fram. Og smerten, det er den verste følelsen jeg noen gang har kjent! Det er som om jeg har kjøttetende maur i hånden som jobber seg innover i hånden og følger armen min. Flammer som aldri vil slukke, men bare bli større!

Blodet strømmer fram, daler ned som en foss og legger en liten sti bak meg. Jeg tenker på gutten, den uutholdelige smerten som han måtte ha følt mens han flyktet fra kjempen. Jeg kjenner den nå, verre enn noen gang og jeg vil vekk.
Jeg snur meg et ørlite sekund, men før jeg rekker å se noe snubler jeg i ett eller annet og lander med det dunk på stien. Livredd snur jeg meg rundt og gjør meg klar til å reise meg.

Men landskapet roer meg ned.

Den fryktelige kjempen er ikke å se. Pulsen går ned, men brått stiger den til værs igjen. Om han ikke er her, hvor er han da?
Fingrene mine rører ved noe bløtt og jeg skvetter til. Forskrekket ser jeg ned og oppdager at jeg har laget min egen lille bloddam. Synet gjør meg kvalm og jeg kravler meg opp og begynner å løpe. Hånden har et eget hjerte inni seg som pumper for harde livet og blodet fra hånden begynner atter en gang å dryppe ned.

En tanke dukker opp i hodet mitt og jeg stopper opp. Hvilken vei er ut av skogen? Jeg hører et knekk bak meg og redselen hiver seg over meg. Jeg sjekker ikke hva lyden kommer av, men bare begynner å løpe. Jeg tar ikke sjansen på at russeren plutselig spurter etter meg mens jeg står og speider utover.

Stien min møter en annen og fra høyre ser jeg blodspor. Det er ikke mitt, men hvem er det sitt? Jeg tenker på gutten og får frysninger.
Jeg følger dem og mens jeg løper sender jeg en melding til Gud om at han må takke gutten for blodsporet han hadde lagd. Jeg håper mannen lar ham være i fred og de livløse øynene til gutten dukker opp på netthinnen min.
Jeg løper, men så er plutselig blodsporet slutt. Jeg tør ikke stanse, men fortsetter å løpe. Ikke så langt frem begynte sporet igjen. Det må være her han puttet fingeren i munnen sin.
Jeg puster lettet ut idet jeg ser enden av skogen og skimter en svak kontur av skolebygningen. Jeg har aldri vært så glad over å se skolen før, men nå er jeg overlykkelig av glede!
Jeg føler meg som et fritt menneske igjen! Fra nå av tror jeg livet mitt vil bli helt forandret.
Hodet mitt snur seg og på stien jeg fulgte ser jeg to blodspor. Det ene er den stakkars gutten sitt som han lagde da han flyktet fra den nådeløse mannen, og det andre er mitt eget. Jeg tenker på eventyret om Hans og Grete. Moren som la igjen brødsmuler så ungene kunne komme seg trykt hjem. Jeg tenker på gutten, han reddet livet mitt ved hjelp av det blodsporet. En så utrolig god gjerning, også måtte han dø for det!

Øynene mine sperres opp og i samme øyeblikk ser jeg en illsint russer spurte mot meg med en kniv i hånden. Jeg er lamslått og ingenting i kroppen min reagerer. Jeg føler et sterkt og smertefylt stikk inn i brystkassen og jeg kjenner at kniven treffer hjertet mitt. Blodet løper løpsk og alle tanker forsvinner.

Jeg tok ikke feil, livet mitt ble helt forandret.

Source: http://www.ballade.no/nmi.nsf/doc/art2010032912394280172121