The City of Thebes

"Guards, take this woman and lock her away!"

The guards roughly took hold of Antigone's arms and dragged her from the garden. Her feet dragged on the cobbles, sending pebbles and dirt into the air. Before they cleared the doorway, Antigone called, anger making her voice shake, "You further violate the rights of the people by passing sentence upon me without a fair and public hearing!"

Creon did not respond, instead turning away from his niece. She had known the law, and had disobeyed him. The consequences were clear. Creon felt no remorse. She was his niece, but she had gone too far.

Antigone was thrown ungracefully into a cell in the dungeons. She stood, wiping dirt and straw from her dress and face.

"You cannot do this!" she shouted, rattling the bars.

The guards walked away. Antigone felt her anger drip away and she slipped down the wall, sitting on the straw covered floor. She would not cry, for it was silly. This whole thing was silly. She should not be in jail for burying her own brother, her blood. She knew Creon was furious; he had every right to be. She had disobeyed him, made him a fool. Still, the punishment for honoring her kin should not be imprisonment without a fair trial.

Antigone believed this with all her heart, and she was ready to serve any punishment, even death, because in her heart of hearts, she knew she did the right thing. No one could take that from her, not even her uncle.

"Food for the prisoner," a delicate voice said.

A guard waved her in, and Ismene rushed to the bars of Antigone's cell. Her eyes were watery and her face flushed, wisps of hair framing her face.

"Antigone, what have you done? Creon will surely kill you!" Ismene whispered, tears threatening to spill over.

Antigone slumped, fingers wrapped around the bars loosely.

"I know Ismene, but it simply had to be done. Polyneices should have been buried properly when he died, like Eteocles. If our uncle hadn't been so pigheaded, none of this would have happened."

A tear ran down Ismene's pale cheek, but she didn't wipe it away.

"You should have left it alone, Antigone!"

Antigone's resignation turned to anger once more. "What would you rather I had done? Let our brother rot where he died for all eternity? I can tell you, the gods would not be happy if I'd done that."

Ismene didn't respond; she looked away from her sister, tears freefalling down her face.

"Promise me something, sister," Antigone whispered. Ismene looked at her. "When I die, bury me. I don't need a proper funeral, but a burial."

Ismene's face hardened. "I will not."

Antigone's face showed her surprise.

Ismene continued, "I won't let him take you from me. You are all I have left. Our brothers are dead. I will not be alone."

Antigone felt a burst of pride for her sister. Ismene's face was a mask of determination.

"Do not worry Antigone, I will make sure you live." With that, Ismene turned and left the dungeons, head held high.

Ismene tried to carry herself delicately, keep up the image that everything was okay. She was searching for Creon, to talk to him. She fingered the dagger hidden in the folds of her dress. Just talk.

Her uncle was sitting in his throne, finishing up negotiations with a townsperson. When he saw her he smiled and waved her over.

"Ah, Ismene," he said warmly. He sat in his throne and Ismene knelt before him. He waved the townsperson away.