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Creative Writing Oedipus The King

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A crowd has already gathered in the royal arena. Rows of stone benches rise above the pit, which is sunken deep into the ground, with a floor of dirt and a heavy wooden door set into its circular walls. The bloodthirsty throng’s roar rings out through the castle. The guards force me through the arena doors, dragging me to the royal viewing box. I scream hysterically as I struggle against their grip. Everyone turns as I am forced in, and the room silences, with only my screams reverberating off the walls. Lord Nemur, the Vesnic king, is already seated upon his throne, watching the pit below, only glancing up when I enter. They slam me into a wooden chair, not bothering to tie me up, there is nowhere for me to run. I swallow my sobs. I shake …show more content…

Achran has no time, instinct is all he has left, and I watch nervously as he fights, as he dodges the air-slicing claws, as he counters with a swipe of his knife. I wince at every blow, and cry out several times, and earn a new bruise from my guards at my every whimper. Kill the beast, kill the creature. Do not be noble, not today. Stab the bear through the eye and slit its throat. Achran dances around the pit, playing a game of cat and mouse, but he quickly wearies. A slip on the stone floor and a well-placed lunge from the bear leaves him with a deep gash down his back, quickly soaking through his thin white tunic. He tumbles, clutching the wound, but quickly regains his feet, as his blood splatters a trail behind him, now staining his shoes, tracing his steps as he staggers backwards. “Kill it!” I screech, ignoring the jab I receive, “Kill it …show more content…

It snarls, blood pouring from its mouth. It rumbles, lurching forward, jagged claws fixed on its target, and Achran swerves, ducking under the claws, avoiding the raging jaws. His knife hits with a sickening thud in the bear’s throat, and he quickly pulls away to avoid the beast’s thrashing. I want to jump from my seat and run to him, but my jubilance is cut short by Achran’s steeled gaze towards the throne. He looks up to the Vesnic Lord, and I turn quickly to see his expression. I don’t understand. Achran nods at Lord Nemur, eyes cast towards his own blood-soaked feet. He glances at me, but quickly looks away, as if to hide fear. I don’t understand. He beat the bear; he won. He should be able to go free now, isn’t that how it works? Moro remains emotionless, but catches my eyes when she sees me looking at her. She gives me a slight shake of the head, showing none of her prior hatred. Her black eyes engulf her face, darkened with

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