Prompt: Antigone and Antony in Cleopatra both present their narratives through not only what the audience sees happen on the stage but also what characters report happening off stage. Write one of the scenes that the play implies but does not explicitly present. Your scene should comprise at least 150 lines of poetry or 1000 words (the minimum is whichever is less). You may either a) write the scene in the style of the original or b) forge your own style (e.g., a novelistic depiction or a stand-alone poem). 

(Enter CREON and MESSENGER)

CREON     

Before me lies the half-devoured, putrid corpse.

A righteous end for enemies of royal state.

And though the prophet’s words must bear the truth, still now

my honest sense repels me from the sight. A king

owes what to his adversary? Justice ne’er

can hesitate. Must he submit to enemies

once freedom from their earthy burdens is achieved?

And what of that Antigone, whose name is laced

with spiteful venom from the viper’s fang. What acts

must she endure for that Teiresias to claim

her falsities as truth. Has such a prophet been

entranced beyond his sense? I cannot think it false.

MESSENGER       

Lord, pray may remind you of your promise to

your state. The prophet cannot speak what is not true.

Teiresias has spoken words that may bring strife

into the heart, but none rules greater than the king

who humbly bears the truth. Recall the foolishness

of Oedipus, who lived denying all he heard

the prophet spoke, and cast a shadow of disgrace

for disregarding truth, just as you now shirk from

this body you must lay to rest.

CREON       

You speak such words

to me, and yet do I remain uneasy here

beside this rotting corpse. For here on stand on that

great state which lives on sturdy foundation of law.

Must that strong rock of order shake and crumble neath

the quaking wrath of rash and thoughtless acts?

MESSENGER       

To you, my lord, these acts may appear fierce and crass.

A king who stands at eagle’s height is quick to see

the foe around man’s bend, yet loses sight of roots

that threaten crooked paths ahead. Yes, you may speak

of state and law, but know your people rather speak

of family whom they owe their being to, and still

of mercy, charitable enough to save a man.

CREON     

A charity to save a man deserving it.

MESSENGER       

Perhaps to save a brother my good lord! Do you

not think of this poor man, your sister’s flesh and blood?

 CREON    

A traitor.

MESSENGER       

In his time on earth, but now a man

whom death has cleansed of sin. A corpse can ne’er bear spite.

CREON     

So say not spite, but taunting nonetheless. 

This cursed bloodline hounds me time and time again.

MESSENGER        

And might

you live to put such taunts to rest?

CREON     

And burial,

you think, will silence him henceforth?

MESSENGER       

Kinship between

those of familiar blood may end that feud which lives

beyond the strict confines of death.

CREON     

Humility. So it must be.

MESSENGER       

And do

you find such actions difficult to swallow Lord?

CREON     

To whom do you now speak? A life defined by mere

humility is as a life among the stars -

contemplated, but never lived. The kingly pride

that reigns within my heart does crack and wilt, I fear.

MESSENGER       

Fear not, my Lord. Such cracks oft clear to leave behind

The tender flesh of souls.

CREON     

And what of state?

MESSENGER       

And what,

indeed?

CREON     

A state reliant on the strength of hearts

that shift relentlessly stand chance as much as men

engulfed in sand.

MESSENGER       

But think, my Lord, of that your son

hath once before proclaimed: “the ones that bend preserve

their limbs and leaves.”

CREON     

Oh think! My son, my flesh and blood

to whom I lashed so ruthlessly. Where may he be?

My men, come quick! O let us bury this poor man,

that he and I may fin’lly rest. And quickly may

we find my son so I may fall beneath him once.

To tell my strong and righteous son I see my sins

so clear as though they never, to me, could be true.

MESSENGER       

But where, my Lord, to find him so?

CREON     

I know my son.

The man’s ambition likely draws him to his bride

to be. That cave of she, Antigone, is where

we shall first look. O Polyneices, son of that my cursed

Jocasta. Now I see your face. I know not how

I lost such sight, but now I know you clear. Your face

contains such angles, arches, blemishes and scars,

and should I dare to lift your lids I know I’d see

that hue of healthy lumber growing day by day,

turned faint from early death for which I punished you.

I know this face from my good sister, stolen from

the world too soon. To think that I withheld respect

while mourning her with every sunrise. Hypocrite,

I name myself! Pour earth upon that face, I beg,

I cannot bear to look! Jocasta, now I plead

forgiveness. Guide your son to heav’nly rest, that I

may seek amends with her, your brave Antigone,

whose strength I took advantage of.

MESSENGER       

So be it. You

good men have heard your king.

CREON     

But let it not be my

judgment that makes so true an order.

MESSENGER

Whose then, sir?

CREON

Man embracing man; born of state.

MESSENGER       

What say

you now of state, my king? You once swore by your state

as sole anchor of truth.

CREON     

What I once knew as state cannot exist.

MESSENGER       

And what

instead?

CREON     

Ask not for what I cannot give to you.

The state of those who mourn and cry

for justice out of malice. Or perhaps of dear

Antigone who knew what none but prophets knew

and suffered for her pleas. A king is ne’er a state

so long as trunks cannot be trees. The ocean not

confined to water, nor the sky but clouds alone.

These words are hard to say, but I am troubled, friend.

MESSENGER       

Your words are valiant, my lord, and men will find

fulfillment in them yet.

CREON      And I am glad, but I

am torn. The instability of life does show

his ugly face and taunt my smallness - tease the depths

of my inadequacy. Here I am: humble

and desp’rate. Gods, do grant me what I lack to lead!

(beat)

Alas the silence murmurs. Good Antigone

what do you know? I am at your mercy now.