Oedipus The King: A Narrative Fiction
It's dark. That's the first thing Rex notices – it's dark and it's quiet. But he's awake and startled and scared, as though someone had crashed a pair of cymbals right over his head.
There's something wrong. A pervading sense of unease seeps in as he crawls towards consciousness to figure this out.
It's – it's the floor. That's the second thing that breaks through to him. The floor is cold, jagged, and rough, scuffing his palms as he struggles to sit up.
He's on the floor. That's weird.
Rex doesn't sleep on the floor. Most people, like him, sleep in beds.
So...why, exactly, is he on the floor?
He glances down at the loose pants and dark shirt he wears as pajamas, squints on his shoe-less, sockless feet, and recalls, dimly, crawling into …show more content…
Calm down. You have to breathe, and calm down, Rex.
Remember the rule of threes.
Rex tries to think, tries to function as all the oxygen seems to flee the room.
"U-um..uh..."
The human can survive three days without water. Holiday voice prompts. Then three hours without shelter, and three minutes without air.
Without air...he thinks the air in the room is dwindling. He isn't sure if he can feel his toes.
Rex. You can only survive three seconds if you don't have...what? What, Rex? What do you need most to survive?
He hears himself breathe. In, and out. In and out. It takes more calm than he currently possesses, but he fakes it, and he makes himself think of anything else.
"Hope." He whispers to himself. "You need hope to survive."
Fingers in front of his face, he counts to three and breathes again. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.
He counts to three another time, and another, until his heart no longer pounds in his ears.
When he is finished panicking (though he's still too sheepish and too scared to admit that's what he really was doing), he swallows and stands.
He continues to talk to himself, because he's found that it …show more content…
"Afraid of the dark, are we?"
"No. I'm not." He hears himself say, still feeling defiant despite the bruises.
That cold smile makes him regret it.
"We'll have to fix that, Rex. Don't you know what lives in the dark?"
He's not going to say it, he shouldn't say it, he won't -
"Cockroaches like you?"
A blink of gold is all his warning before he's yanked up by his wrist, the one that already aches, and white, spindly fingers creep up his arm.
Rex tries to fight - he flails, his feet off the ground, and tosses his fist toward the general direction of his opponent. He's not stupid. He knows what's coming and he doesn't want it.
But.
But. He hasn't eaten in a while, or slept a full night's sleep, and in this state he can't control his nanites. He's human and pathetic. He can do nothing in the face of this monster.
Van Kleiss laughs at him.
"Didn't your parents teach you manners, dear boy? No? Leave it to me, then."
That's when the cutting, the slicing with small, sharp knives, starts.
A cut along his hand.
"You're weak."
A slice down his forearm.
"You're pathetic."
The bloody knife bites into his shoulder, and he cries out without meaning to.
"You can't even save
There's something wrong. A pervading sense of unease seeps in as he crawls towards consciousness to figure this out.
It's – it's the floor. That's the second thing that breaks through to him. The floor is cold, jagged, and rough, scuffing his palms as he struggles to sit up.
He's on the floor. That's weird.
Rex doesn't sleep on the floor. Most people, like him, sleep in beds.
So...why, exactly, is he on the floor?
He glances down at the loose pants and dark shirt he wears as pajamas, squints on his shoe-less, sockless feet, and recalls, dimly, crawling into …show more content…
Calm down. You have to breathe, and calm down, Rex.
Remember the rule of threes.
Rex tries to think, tries to function as all the oxygen seems to flee the room.
"U-um..uh..."
The human can survive three days without water. Holiday voice prompts. Then three hours without shelter, and three minutes without air.
Without air...he thinks the air in the room is dwindling. He isn't sure if he can feel his toes.
Rex. You can only survive three seconds if you don't have...what? What, Rex? What do you need most to survive?
He hears himself breathe. In, and out. In and out. It takes more calm than he currently possesses, but he fakes it, and he makes himself think of anything else.
"Hope." He whispers to himself. "You need hope to survive."
Fingers in front of his face, he counts to three and breathes again. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.
He counts to three another time, and another, until his heart no longer pounds in his ears.
When he is finished panicking (though he's still too sheepish and too scared to admit that's what he really was doing), he swallows and stands.
He continues to talk to himself, because he's found that it …show more content…
"Afraid of the dark, are we?"
"No. I'm not." He hears himself say, still feeling defiant despite the bruises.
That cold smile makes him regret it.
"We'll have to fix that, Rex. Don't you know what lives in the dark?"
He's not going to say it, he shouldn't say it, he won't -
"Cockroaches like you?"
A blink of gold is all his warning before he's yanked up by his wrist, the one that already aches, and white, spindly fingers creep up his arm.
Rex tries to fight - he flails, his feet off the ground, and tosses his fist toward the general direction of his opponent. He's not stupid. He knows what's coming and he doesn't want it.
But.
But. He hasn't eaten in a while, or slept a full night's sleep, and in this state he can't control his nanites. He's human and pathetic. He can do nothing in the face of this monster.
Van Kleiss laughs at him.
"Didn't your parents teach you manners, dear boy? No? Leave it to me, then."
That's when the cutting, the slicing with small, sharp knives, starts.
A cut along his hand.
"You're weak."
A slice down his forearm.
"You're pathetic."
The bloody knife bites into his shoulder, and he cries out without meaning to.
"You can't even save