ext_25779 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
blankmeridian.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2005-09-01 07:57 pm
blankmeridian.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-01 07:57 pm
[September 1st] [Antigone] Peter's Sister
Title: Peter's Sister
Day/Theme: Sep. 1/"Here we are"
Series: Antigone
Character/Pairing: Antigone
Rating: PG-13 for impending d00m
The mouth of the cave was sealed, her destiny along with it. Oh, it was a lofty thing, destiny, a thing that men like Creon would laugh at. "Foolish girl," he would say, "Would you throw your life away for the sake of such a story-book notion? You cling to the gods of old, but you can rest assured that if they exist at all, they do not value your loyalty. They look upon your desperate crusade with derision and scorn you for vainly parading around in armor of righteousness not meant for mortals. Justice is for the gods, Antigone. You are only a girl."
Perhaps Creon was right. Perhaps the gods she revered thought her nothing more than a conceited stalk of grass posing as an indomitable oak tree. But if she had to choose between sinking in the stench of common indifference and arrogantly chasing after ideals so powerful that they would burn her skin until she was nothing, she chose the latter.
"I do not fear death," she whispered fiercely into the darkness.
"No," Creon’s inescapable voice chided in her head, "You fear life. You pretend to be as courageous as one thousand men because you are too much of a coward to be just one. The tedium of everyday life frightens you, and you are not strong enough to face it. You bury Polynices so that you can bury yourself. You have been plotting your escape from this world since you were a child."
But Creon, simply surviving everyday, succumbing to routine and taking it by the hand even when its monotony fills your lungs and chokes you, that is not bravery. To face each banal morning, to look it in the eye and breathe honesty into it, to endure a lifetime of uncompromising virtue without yielding to the pull of what is simple, what is customary, what is efficient, that is bravery. I have not lead such a life. But I have been true to the laws of decency for one day, and that is more than you have done.
The grating silence sang along her skin; the dust in the air plugged up her nostrils. Creon had sided with the world, and Ismene, Haemon, they would not follow her here. Antigone did not indulge in any fantasies of rescue; Charon was the only one coming to her aid. She rose, decisiveness ("Fear," Creon would--but her uncle had no hold over her now) leading her to action. She would accept her death, yes, but she would not wait for it, would not wait for hunger to claw its way through her body and shred her resolve. With dirt under her fingernails and the name "Polynices" on her lips, she would stride into the waters of Styx herself.
She tightened her grip around the cord of her dress.
*A/N: Although I've read the original, I prefer Anouilh's adaptation of Antigone, so some of this fic may seem slightly anachronistic. Also, it's been a while since I've read either one, so please point out any other discrepancies.
**Charon is the ferryman responsible for taking newly dead souls across the River Styx into the underworld.
Day/Theme: Sep. 1/"Here we are"
Series: Antigone
Character/Pairing: Antigone
Rating: PG-13 for impending d00m
The mouth of the cave was sealed, her destiny along with it. Oh, it was a lofty thing, destiny, a thing that men like Creon would laugh at. "Foolish girl," he would say, "Would you throw your life away for the sake of such a story-book notion? You cling to the gods of old, but you can rest assured that if they exist at all, they do not value your loyalty. They look upon your desperate crusade with derision and scorn you for vainly parading around in armor of righteousness not meant for mortals. Justice is for the gods, Antigone. You are only a girl."
Perhaps Creon was right. Perhaps the gods she revered thought her nothing more than a conceited stalk of grass posing as an indomitable oak tree. But if she had to choose between sinking in the stench of common indifference and arrogantly chasing after ideals so powerful that they would burn her skin until she was nothing, she chose the latter.
"I do not fear death," she whispered fiercely into the darkness.
"No," Creon’s inescapable voice chided in her head, "You fear life. You pretend to be as courageous as one thousand men because you are too much of a coward to be just one. The tedium of everyday life frightens you, and you are not strong enough to face it. You bury Polynices so that you can bury yourself. You have been plotting your escape from this world since you were a child."
But Creon, simply surviving everyday, succumbing to routine and taking it by the hand even when its monotony fills your lungs and chokes you, that is not bravery. To face each banal morning, to look it in the eye and breathe honesty into it, to endure a lifetime of uncompromising virtue without yielding to the pull of what is simple, what is customary, what is efficient, that is bravery. I have not lead such a life. But I have been true to the laws of decency for one day, and that is more than you have done.
The grating silence sang along her skin; the dust in the air plugged up her nostrils. Creon had sided with the world, and Ismene, Haemon, they would not follow her here. Antigone did not indulge in any fantasies of rescue; Charon was the only one coming to her aid. She rose, decisiveness ("Fear," Creon would--but her uncle had no hold over her now) leading her to action. She would accept her death, yes, but she would not wait for it, would not wait for hunger to claw its way through her body and shred her resolve. With dirt under her fingernails and the name "Polynices" on her lips, she would stride into the waters of Styx herself.
She tightened her grip around the cord of her dress.
*A/N: Although I've read the original, I prefer Anouilh's adaptation of Antigone, so some of this fic may seem slightly anachronistic. Also, it's been a while since I've read either one, so please point out any other discrepancies.
**Charon is the ferryman responsible for taking newly dead souls across the River Styx into the underworld.