The Erinyes
The Erinyes
Title: "The Fury's Dilemma"
I. Prologue: The Theater
The musty scent of old velvet and wood polish filled my nostrils as Barb and I shuffled down the narrow aisle of the Starlight Community Theater. The place was barely larger than a high school auditorium, with creaky folding seats and a stage that had seen better days. But to me, it was hallowed ground.
"Remind me again why we're here on a perfectly good Friday night?" Barb whispered, her voice a mix of amusement and mild irritation.
“You didn’t have to come.”
“You don’t have to be alone. I’ll hold your hand”
I smiled, patting the notebook in my lap. “This is my big break, Barb. Well, potentially."
Barb raised an eyebrow. "Reviewing a new one act play? A community theater production is your big break? Probably all still Cal students."
“Everyone starts somewhere," I replied, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. “My first arts assignment at the paper. It's a foot in the door."
We settled into our seats, the worn fabric scratching against my jeans. The theater was about half full, a mix of what looked like friends and family of the cast, a few old boomers who probably funded the company, along with a few creative looking younger folks like us. The room hummed with quiet conversation and the rustle of programs.
Characters
The Prisoner, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit
The Lawyer, wearing a flashy red suit
The Erinyes, dressed in timeless short white gowns, high black boots, tattoos.
- Megaera, holding a scroll
- Alecto, holding a whip
- Tisiphone, holding a sword
As the house lights dimmed, I felt a familiar thrill run through me. This was it – the moment when reality faded away and a new world emerged on stage. It didn't matter that the set looked a bit wobbly or that the lead actor's makeup was visible even from the back row. What mattered was the story, the words, the magic of live performance.
Barb leaned in close, her breath warm on my ear. "Just remember, if this turns out to be awful, you owe me dinner."
"Deal. But have a little faith, will you?"
The lights came up, revealing a stark prison cell. A lone figure in an orange jumpsuit sat hunched on a metal cot.
This was more than just a night out with a friend. It was research, inspiration, a chance to hone my craft. Every play I watched, every review I wrote, was another step toward my dream. Someday, I'd see my own words brought to life on stages like this – or maybe even grander ones.
For now, though, I was content to be here, in this cramped little theater, with my best friend by my side and a world of possibilities unfolding before me.
—
II. The Play Begins
A. Scene 1: The Prisoner and Lawyer
The harsh fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating a sparse prison cell. In the center, a man in a rumpled orange jumpsuit sat on a metal cot, his shoulders hunched. This was the Prisoner, wound tight. A caged animal.
The cell door creaked open, and in walked the Lawyer, her crisp red suit a stark contrast to the drab surroundings. She carried a sleek briefcase, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.
Lawyer, her voice crisp and professional: "Good morning, sir. I trust you're ready to discuss our strategy?"
The Prisoner, arrogant: About time. Do you have any idea what it's like in here? The food is worse than dog chow, and don't get me started on the accommodations.
Lawyer, in a barely suppressed smirk: I'm sure it's not up to your usual standards, sir. But let's focus on getting you out of here, shall we?
Lawyer, opening her briefcase, pulling out a stack of papers: ”Now, I've been reviewing your case. The prosecution thinks they have a slam dunk, but I see several angles we can work. Sign here sir, so I have what I need to help you."
(The pace of conversation quickens)
Prisoner, leaning forward, suddenly interested:” Like what? Can we make it go away?”
Lawyer: Say "hypothetically" sir.
Prisoner: What? why?
Lawyer: Say it and we can continue.
Prisoner: Whatever, can we "hypothetically" pay for it to go away?
Lawyer: Hypothetically, bribes are tricky. Can't you get your usual guy to hypothetically take care of that?
Prisoner: I could make a call
Lawyer: You can only make one 15 minute call a day.
Prisoner: To who?
Lawyer: The guy, your girlfriend, your wife, whatever.
Prisoner: Hmmm… Who can I call about string theory?
Lawyer: I’m not really sure what you mean sir.
Prisoner, showing the lawyer a book: I saw this book, that promised to explain, you know, the whole universe, but I don’t get it. Can you find the guy’s number?
Lawyer: I don’t see how that will… Oh, of course sir
Prisoner: Or maybe from the math side
Lawyer: Universe math. Ok... I’ll look into that too, sir.
Prisoner: That math stuff… we have very smart guys working on our investments. They use a lot of math. Do you use math in your investments?
Lawyer: Yes sir.
Prisoner: I had a great conversation with Clinton about math and investments once. He started off really poor you know. Now look at those two.
Lawyer: Math?
Prisoner: Exactly. So if I only get one call, you’ll have to work on those things and a few others. Take this down.
Lawyer, legal pad out: String theory and universe math. Yes. Ready.
Prisoner: The key witness, review her previous statements, background, personal life, any embarrassing or damning information
Lawyer: Dirt
Prisoner: Contact the guy about the hypothetical thing.
Lawyer: Real guy, Hypothetical skulduggery
Prisoner: Get my witnesses to hypothetically agree to testify the way we want
Pawyer: Witness tampering
Prisoner: Settlement
Lawyer: Really?
Prisoner: Cash settlement. Try that first. Research related appeals cases, just in case. Fight it all the way to the supremes
Lawyer: Appalling tactics
Prisoner: What?
Lawyer: Appeal tactics!
Prisoner: Ok… Hire a Jury expert.
Lawyer: Fix the jury
Prisoner: Anything else you’d add?
Lawyer: Build a top notch defense team including research into depositions, police reports. Pull out all the stops.
Prisoner: Good. Spare no expense. But get it as cheap as you can.
Lawyer: Ok. Plea deal.
Prisoner: Please. I'm no victim. I'm a winner, always have been. These people are just jealous of my success.
Lawyer: Right! Talk to your business. Make sure all is well.
Prisoner: Good. Everything goes through me.
Lawyer: Build a media strategy
Prisoner: No, I’ve got that
Lawyer: Really? Ok... Contact a mental health professional to assess your state of mind and determine whether you’re fit to stand trial.
Prisoner: Good. I mean I’m great. I’ll ace that. Get it?
Lawyer: Got it!
Prisoner: Good!
Lawyer exits
Scene 2: Enter the Erinyes
As the Lawyer exited, promising to return with more information, the lights in the cell dim. A strange mist began to seep in from the corners, and an otherworldly hum filled the air.
Suddenly, three figures materialize: the Erinyes, dressed in short white gowns and high black boots, their skin adorned with intricate tattoos. Megaera held a scroll, Alecto a whip, and Tisiphone a sword.
The Prisoner blinked, rubbing his eyes. "What the... who are you? Guards!"
Megaera steps forward: We are the Erinyes. We come to deliver judgment."
"Judgment?" the Prisoner scoffed. "Look, ladies, I don't know what kind of cosplay this is, but I'm not interested. I've got a real trial to prepare for."
Meg: Ok, let’s make this quick. opens the scroll. You’re hereby found guilty of crimes against the universe. You have the right to see the list (a comically long list)
Prisoner: Guilty already? I get it, this is a stress dream. Didn't you hear the lawyer? She thinks I can get off.
Tisi uses the whip to point at the scroll.
Alec is laughing, shaking her head.
Meg, also laughing: You've had entirely too much getting off already.
Alec: Casting couch
Tisi: Young girls
Alec: Lies
anipulation
Tisi: Brute
Alec: Bribes
Tisi: Transactional
Alec: No moral center
Tisi: Infidelity
Prisoner, interrupting: Look, you’re just in my head, I know it. I don’t believe in you. Disappear.
They laugh at him.
Meg: Believe? do you have to believe in gravity for it to hold you to the earth, for the earth to rotate around the sun, for the constellations to appear in the night sky?
Prisoner: Gravity doesn’t judge me. Here I am. (Plants feet) Stop judging. Go away.
Meg: We don't judge you. You wrote the scroll. We’re just delivering it. Tisi pointing with the whip.
Meg hands him the scroll: Recognize the handwriting?
The prisoner starts to read the scroll, but then quickly turns on meg, arguing for his life in a sarcastic tone
Prisoner: What do you know about me? you’re probably just as bad. Haven’t you ever, I don’t know, turned yourself into a swan or something and been unspeakably bad?
Meg laughs: You’ll find no tales like that about us. No emotions, no distractions. Infallible and Relentless.
Prisoner: You’re full of shit. No one is infallible.
Meg: You’re boring me. Give in now and get it over with.
He attacks.
The sisters spring to Meg's defense. Tisi yells: Meg! and defends her with the sword. Alec, brandishing the whip, is by her side
Their united power is awesome, terrifying, loud orchestral music! bright lights! the power of the universe!
He relents, cowering, bowing down.
He tries to bargain, putting the list away in a pocket.
Prisoner: Ok girls, what if I’m sorry, accept you as a higher power, make amends, that sort of thing? I could make a donation to your favorite charity, and…
Meg rolls her eyes and interrupts: You’re not listening. We’re not judges or jury. We don’t care what you think. Man! … How about you let that sink in? We can wait. (The Furies slump to the floor, leaning on each other.)
III. Intermission: The Narrator's Thoughts
As the scene faded to black, the audience sat in stunned silence, the weight of cosmic justice hanging heavy in the air.
As the play progressed, I found myself drawn in despite the occasional stumbled line or missed cue. There was something raw and honest about the performance, a spark of creativity that transcended the humble surroundings.
As the house lights came up briefly, I blinked, momentarily disoriented. We were told there would be no intermission. I guess someone didn’t get the memo. The stark reality of the small theater came rushing back, a jarring contrast to the cosmic drama that had just unfolded on stage.
"Well, this is... intense," Barb whispered, her eyebrows raised.
I nodded, my mind reeling. "Yeah, more than I was expecting."
As the audience around us began to stir, chattering and stretching, swirling impressions and critiques raced through my mind.
The play so far was a curious mix of the mundane and the mythic. The opening scene with the prisoner and lawyer had been almost clich̩ in its setup, the lawyer, she's a devil, yet there was a sharpness to the dialogue that hinted at deeper layers. And then, the entrance of the Erinyes Рthat was where things had really taken a turn.
I couldn't help but admire the playwright's audacity. Bringing Greek mythology into a modern #metoo drama was a bold choice, one that could easily have fallen flat. Yet somehow, it worked. The Furies' presence elevated the story, transforming a tale of earthly corruption into a classical morality play.
But how to capture that in a review? I've always struggled with the balance between analysis and emotion in my writing. Do I focus on the technical aspects – the occasionally clunky dialogue, the flat and wobbly set design? Or do I try to convey the raw power of the performances, the way the actress playing Megaera had sent chills down my spine? I looked in the program:
And what about my own biases? I'm a sucker for mythology, always have been. Am I overrating the play simply because it pushes my personal buttons? A good critic should be objective, shouldn't they?
But then again, is true objectivity even possible when it comes to art? Every viewer brings their own experiences, their own context to a performance. Maybe the real skill in criticism isn't in achieving some impossible standard of neutrality, but in clearly communicating one's subjective experience while acknowledging its limitations.
I glanced at Barb, who was scrolling through her phone, seemingly unaffected by the existential crisis brewing in the seat next to her. I envied her ability to simply enjoy (or not enjoy) a performance without overthinking it.
As the lights dimmed again, I took a deep breath. The second act was about to begin, and with it, a new set of challenges and revelations – both for the characters on stage and for me as a writer.
Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for certain: this little community theater production was going to give me far more to write about than I'd ever anticipated. The real test would be doing justice to its ambition, its flaws, and its unexpected power.
Prepared for anything, I settled back, ready for Scene 3.
IV. The Play Continues
Scene 3: The Lawyer's Return
The lights rise on the prison cell, the Prisoner sits opposite the Erinyes. Lawyer strides in quickly.
Lawyer: Sir, I've got some updates on your case… are you alright?"
Prisoner: Yes. No. I’ve been better.
The Lawyer: Listen, stress can do strange things to the mind. Let's focus on what's real, what we can control. I have good news sir. Regarding witness dirt. Their star witness has a flaw. I’ll rip her to shreds on the stand. Pull her heart out of her chest. Are you ready to sign our deal?
Prisoner signs: That's my girl.
Lawyer: Now they will probably accept a settlement.
Prisoner: I don’t admit guilt.
Lawyer: Of course not. No guilt, most of your assets protected, ready to rebuild.
Prisoner: Rebuild? But …
Prisoner looks at Meg: Is it enough?
(Pause)
Lawyer: I’m sure it is sir, but let me know what else I can…
Prisoner interrupting, depressed: it’s just terrible here
(Quick pace)
Lawyer takes out her pad: Oh?
Prisoner: The toilet won’t stop running
Lawyer makes a note: fix faulty flapper
Prisoner: the orange jumpsuit is so ugly
Lawyer: Tailor fitting
Prisoner: the food is terrible
Lawyer: Cell dash?
Prisoner: Difficulty sleeping
Lawyer: Sleeping meds
Prisoner: Dehydration
Lawyer: Hydro meds
Prisoner: Numbness in my arm
Lawyer: Arm meds
Prisoner slumps on his bed, holding the scroll, his eyes distant. The weight on his shoulders.
Prisoner, looking at the scroll, softly: All this time...
He glances at the Erinyes, then back to the scroll, ironic: My own handwriting. Of course.
Prisoner, stands in a spotlight, accepting at last, straightening his jumpsuit, to Meg: It's time to go
The Furies stand.
Other light fades with each exit emphasizing the spotlight. No emotion on stage.
The lawyer gathers her notes in her case and leaves.
Alec exits slowly, no she stops and puts the whip in his hand
Tisi exits, and takes the scroll from the prisoner’s other hand
Finally Meg turns out the spotlight on her way out.
End.
V. After the Show
By the time the final scene arrived, I was on the edge of my seat, my critic's eye momentarily forgotten in the grip of the story. As the lights came up and polite applause filled room, I turned to Barb with a grin.
"So, still think I owe you dinner?"
Barb rolled her eyes, but I could see the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "We'll see. Now, aren't you supposed to be taking notes or something, Woodward?”
I nodded, tapping my notebook. "Right. Time to get to work."
As we filed out of the theater, my mind was already racing with ideas, critiques, and observations. Tomorrow, I'd shape them into a review. But tonight? Tonight, I'd let the magic of theater work its way through me, fueling dreams of the stories yet to come.
—
As we stepped out of the Starlight Community Theater, the cool night air was a welcome relief after the stuffy auditorium. Barb stretched her arms above her head, her silver bracelets jingling softly.
"Well, that was... something," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
I nodded, my mind still whirling with thoughts about the play. "Yeah, it really was. Hey, want to grab a tea? I need to jot down some notes. Do you want to help?”
“No” she laughed, “but sure. Your treat. Including an overpriced muffin.”
The cafe is around the corner, so we grabbed some hot tea and sat in an uncomfortable booth. We whispered in case some folks from the show come in.
“So?” I started, leaving room for Barb’s thoughts.
“So no intermission. Was that so no one would leave?” Barb was not kidding.
“Or to focus the claustrophobic atmosphere of the cell.”
“Good. Write that one down.”
I did.
Barb smiled “at least it was really short.”
“I know who the prisoner is. Are. All the #MeToo guys. The lawyer is the smart one, the devil. Erinyes?” Googling…
“I like her, the lawyer. She knew what she wanted and got it.” Barb was on a roll. “Don’t forget a nod to Epstein and Trump. The Erinyes, the Furies, I took a female mythology class once. That’s them alright. The old school justice league from the underworld.”
“The Furies, Erinyes, Eumenides, embodying vengeance, justice, and punishment for immoral actions, especially those against family or societal norms.”
“The takeaway is supposed to be that mortal law is flawed, immortal law is perfect.” Barb explained.
“Supposed to be?”
Barb made sure she’s whispering “Well it was a bit weak, the writing, don’t ya think? Five stages of grief. Really? Math and string theory? Bad food? It was all over the place.”
Googling … “Ah, yes, Epstein. That’s all him in prison. They had prisoner spies.”
“Ok, that’s interesting, but it didn’t fit in the story at all. Just kind of thrown in there.”
“Come on Barb, it wasn’t so bad,” I countered. “A few jokes. The devil was smart. We hated the bad guy. The Erinyes were cute.”
Barb raised an eyebrow, “Look, I write comedy. That was not funny. And the cute goddesses? They’re supposed to have all the power of universal vengeance. When they come, it’s not a visit from some virginal sorority.”
“Virginal? They really never ever took lovers? I thought all the gods did that. The swan line was good. Come on.”
“No! That’s a boomer dad joke.” Barb deflated. “Listen, sex wasn’t the thing for the Furies. They were the enforcers. Serious, tenacious, brutal. These gals tonight were cartoons.”
The actors come in with their friends, laughing and joking.
I recognize the actor who played Meg, Sarah Chen. “Meg wasn’t a cartoon, she was cool. I’d date her.”
"Megaera was ok. She had that 'don't mess with me' vibe. Sorry Romeo, she’s out of your league."
I laughed, remembering Barb has had a bad ass attitude since we first met. She'd been the intimidating senior to my nervous freshman at the college paper and had taken me under her wing.
"You know," I said slowly, "maybe that's the key. The play wasn't perfect, but it made us feel something. It's sticking with us, making us think.”
“I’ll bite. What are you thinking?”
“Imagine I start dating Meg and she’s crazy for me.“
“You’re her first boyfriend since the dawn of time, millions of years. So yeah, you’d be the best she’s ever had.” Barb withers.
“What do we do? It’s against the same rules she’s supposed to enforce.”
Barb blinked. “Stop. Write that down, too. Seriously.”
“Really?” I did.
“Yeah. It can’t happen. Couldn’t ever happen. And if it did happen, her own sisters would have to track her down. That’s intense. Much better than the play,” Barb panned. “The only ones she trusts are her sisters, but she can’t tell them, can’t ask for their help.”
“So if Meg and I fell in love, really cared for each other, what if she gave up her immortality and we lived mortally ever after?”
“Derivative. That’s the plot of the book I gave you for your birthday last year, the witch nymph,” Barb reminded me.
“Oh yeah, heh… but it would be sweet right? Get a farm, a cow, a goat, a dog, grow our own veggies…”
“Whatever. We could do that.” Barb hinted.
“Or we could travel the universe. She probably flies for free. We could visit worlds with totally different ways of being.”
“Calm down Azamov. Your intergalactic passport hasn’t arrived yet.”
“What if she just used her vacation time, for a couple of decades with me? That’s the blink of an eye to an immortal.”
“They don’t have unions or benefits. Next.”
“Wait. I got it. What if we upload my personality to the cloud. Then I’d be immortal too, in my own way. We could just be platonic pals. Forever.”
Barb rolled her eyes. “Your head’s in the cloud alright. But I doubt they have Wi-Fi in the underworld. No. You’re faced with one terrible choice. The only way out is tragically romantic. You can’t ever see each other again. But she can make your love truly immortal.”
“That’s terrible Barb. Depressing. We can’t be even slightly happy for a little while, Blade Runner style?”
“I’m so sick of fiction building up characters then they suddenly pivot and do something completely different,” Barb lectured. “This way is completely in tune with the universe. She’s a Fury. She had a fling once and immediately ended it, so she gets a pass. But the love is pure so it stays. Go ahead, write it like that. Think of the ending of that old film you love. Casablanca.”
“I get be Bogey? Cool! But it’s not exactly a story like that yet.”
“No, but it’s a really good idea. If I read the blurb, I’d want to read that story. You’re the writer. Go write,” Barb inspired.
I jotted down more notes. “But how is this a play review?”
“Just write it like you're explaining it to me. Honest, thoughtful, and a little bit snarky. They don’t pay you much anyway. Post it on Insta.”
“You mean my website.”
“Websites are stupid. What is this, 2010?”
“I know. I know. Hey, thanks for your help.”
Barb smiled, a rare softness in her eyes. "That's what friends are for. Besides, someone has to keep you from making a complete fool of yourself.”
As we stepped out into the night, the streets quiet and empty, I felt a surge of gratitude. Not just for Barb's friendship, but for the unexpected inspiration this small community play had provided.
"So," Barb said as we walked, "same time next week? I heard they're doing an experimental version of 'Cats' where all the actors are actually dogs."
I groaned, but couldn't help laughing. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."
Barb just rolled her eyes and gave me a hug. "Goodnight Hellman.”
As we parted ways, I felt energized despite the late hour.
—
VI. The Spark of Inspiration
The next morning I sat at my desk, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen. My thoughts drifted away from the review I was supposed to be writing. Instead, my mind kept circling back to one particular aspect of the play: Meg, the Fury.
There was something about her character that captivated me, her unwavering commitment to justice, her infallibility. I couldn't shake the feeling of her story.
I picked up my phone, my finger hovering over Barb's number. It was barely 9 AM on a Saturday, and I knew she'd probably still be asleep. But my excitement got the better of me, and I hit dial.
"This better be good," Barb's groggy voice answered after several rings.
"Sorry to wake you," I said, not feeling particularly sorry at all. "But I've got an idea, and I need your input."
I heard rustling on the other end, followed by a deep sigh. "Give me ten minutes. Meet me at the park. Bring coffee."
I found Barb sitting on a bench near the duck pond, holding a travel mug. Obviously just rolled out of bed, she wore oversized sunglasses despite the overcast day. I sat down beside her and poured fresh coffee into her mug.
"Okay, Hemingway," she said in a rough voice. "What's so important that it couldn't wait until a decent hour?"
"I want to write a story about Meg," I blurted out.
Barb lowered her sunglasses, peering at me over the rims. “Not the review. A story?”
"Exactly!" I exclaimed, earning a curious look from a passing jogger. "I gave you the start last night. What if Meg started questioning her role? What if she fell in love with a mortal?"
“Yeah, I gave you the ending. Like that old film you love. Casablanca.”
“I get be Bogey? Cool! But it’s not exactly a story like that yet.”
“No, but it’s a really good idea. If I read the blurb, I’d want to read that story. You’re the writer. Go write the middle,” Barb inspired.
I hadn't thought that far ahead, but Barb was sparking new ideas. "Maybe... maybe it's not about changing her nature. What if it's about finding a balance? Learning to love while still upholding justice?"
Barb nodded slowly, a smile spreading across her face. "I like that. It's not about giving up who you are, but growing beyond the limitations you thought you had.
“Maybe give Meg a specific case that makes her question her black-and-white view of justice,” the thought popping into my head.
"What about the mortal she falls for?" Barb asked. "Who are they? What draws Meg to them?"
I thought for a moment. "Maybe... maybe they're a judge or a lawyer. Someone who also deals with justice, but from a human perspective. Their debates about morality and punishment could be what initially brings them together."
"Ooh, forbidden intellectual attraction. Very sexy," Barb teased, but I could tell she liked the idea.
I scribbled notes furiously in my notebook. Plot points, character details, snippets of dialogue – it was all pouring out of me faster than I could write.
"You know," Barb decided, "this is actually really good. You might have something here."
I looked up from my notebook, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. "You think so? I mean, it's just an idea. I've never written fiction before, not really."
“”Hey, it's original, it's thought-provoking, and it's got that mythological twist that people love."
Her confidence in me was both thrilling and terrifying. "But what about my review? My journalism career? This is... a pretty big departure."
"Who says you can't do both?" Barb challenged. "Write your review. Make it great. But don't let that stop you from exploring this story. You've got a spark here, don't let it go out."
I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. I'll write the review today, but... this story is taking me over.”
VII. Writing Attempts
Back at my apartment, I sat at my desk, determined to focus on the play review. The deadline was looming, and I knew I needed to get it done. I opened a new document and typed out the title: "Justice Beyond Mortal Bounds: A Review of 'The Prisoner's Dilemma' at Starlight Community Theater."
I stared at the blinking cursor, willing the words to come. But as I tried to formulate my opening paragraph, my mind kept drifting to Meg and the story idea Barb and I had brainstormed.
Shaking my head, I forced myself to concentrate. I managed to write a few sentences:
"In an ambitious blend of contemporary drama and Greek mythology, 'The Prisoner's Dilemma' challenges audiences to reconsider their notions of justice and accountability. While the production occasionally stumbles in its lofty goals, the raw energy and thought-provoking themes make for a memorable evening of theater."
Not bad, I thought. But as I tried to expand on this opening, I found myself struggling. How could I convey the power of the Furies' presence? The transformation of the Prisoner? The ethical quandaries posed by the play?
Frustrated, I decided to take a break. I opened a new document, titling it "Meg's Story (Working Title)." Almost immediately, the words began to flow:
"Megaera stood at the edge of the mortal realm, her ancient eyes scanning the bustling city below. Centuries of dispensing justice had never prepared her for this moment of doubt. As she watched the humans scurry about their lives, she wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to walk among them, unburdened by the weight of cosmic responsibility."
This was fun, letting my imagination run wild. But I couldn't forget my actual assignment. Reluctantly, I switched back to the review document.
Over the next few hours, I alternated between the two pieces, making slow but steady progress on the review while indulging in bursts of creativity for Meg's story. The review gradually took shape:
"The standout performance comes from Sarah Chen as Megaera, the lead Fury. Chen brings a captivating blend of otherworldly authority and subtle vulnerability to the role, hinting at depths that the script only begins to explore. Her confrontations with John Davis's Prisoner crackle with tension, elevating what could have been melodramatic scenes into genuinely compelling drama."
But even as I wrote about the play, my mind kept wandering to my own version of Meg. I found myself jotting down snippets of dialogue and scene ideas:
"You don't understand," Meg said, her voice tinged with frustration. "I can't simply ignore cosmic law. It's not just my job, it's who I am."
David, the mortal judge she'd grown close to, leaned forward, his eyes intense. "But that's just it, Meg. You're more than your job. You have the capacity to change, to grow beyond what you’ve been?”
Meg turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "And what if that growth comes at the cost of everything I've ever known? My sisters, my purpose..."
"What if it leads to something even greater?" David countered softly.
I grinned, feeling a connection with these characters that surprised me. But guilt nagged at me – I still had a review to finish. I forced myself back to the task at hand:
"While the play's ambition is commendable, it occasionally bites off more than it can chew. The shift from realistic #MeToo prison drama to mythological morality play is jarring at times, and some of the dialogue feels stilted. However, the production finds its footing as mortal and divine justice stand in contrast.”
As the day wore on, I found myself increasingly torn between my professional obligation and my newfound creative passion. The review was coming together, but it felt mechanical, lacking the spark of excitement I felt when writing about Meg.
In a moment of frustration, I called Barb.
"How's it going, Hemingway?” she answered.
I sighed. "It's... complicated. I'm making progress on the review, but I keep getting distracted by Meg's story. I can't seem to focus on one or the other."
"Hmm," Barb mused. "Maybe you're approaching this the wrong way. Instead of seeing them as separate tasks, why not let them inform each other?"
“How?”
"Well, your original idea for the review was to highlight what drew you to Meg's character. Use that insight in your review. And the analysis you're doing for the review – let that deepen your understanding of Meg for your story."
I considered her words, feeling a shift in perspective. "You know, that actually makes a lot of sense."
“Shut up. Get back to work.”
Energized by this new approach, I returned to my writing with renewed focus. As the sun began to set, I leaned back in my chair, surveying my work. The review was nearly complete, capturing both the technical aspects of the production and the emotional impact it had on me. And while Meg's story was still in its early stages, I had a solid foundation to build upon.
VIII. The Meg Story Outline
Title: "Fury's Choice" (working title)
Main Characters:
1. Megaera (Meg): One of the three Furies, responsible for punishing moral crimes. Struggles with her rigid role as she begins to see the complexity in human nature.
2. David Chen: A mortal judge known for his fair but compassionate rulings. Challenges Meg's black-and-white view of justice.
3. Alecto and Tisiphone: Meg's sisters and fellow Furies. Represent the traditional, unchanging view of cosmic justice.
4. Sophia Pappas: A human defendant whose case causes Meg to question her purpose.
Plot Outline:
1. Introduction: Meg observing the mortal world, feeling a strange longing she can't explain.
2. Inciting Incident: Meg is assigned to punish Sophia, a woman who committed a crime to save her child.
3. First Encounter: While investigating Sophia's case, Meg meets David in his courtroom and is intrigued by his approach to justice.
4. Rising Action: Meg and David debate justice, slowly growing closer. Meg begins to question her role.
5. Midpoint: Meg decides to delay Sophia's punishment, causing conflict with her sisters.
6. Complications: Meg and David's relationship deepens, but the divide between mortal and immortal worlds threatens to tear them apart.
7. Climax: Meg must choose between her duty as a Fury and her love for David, with Sophia's fate hanging in the balance.
8. Resolution: Meg finds a way to balance her cosmic role with her newfound understanding of mortal complexity, transforming her approach to justice.
As I fleshed out the outline, I realized I needed to do more research on Greek mythology to ensure I was treating the Furies accurately. I spent the next hour reading about their origins and representations in various myths.
Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the weight of mythology, I decided to call Barb for her input.
"Morning, Hemingway,” she answered. "How's the muse flowing?”
I chuckled. “Meg’s… complicated. I've got a basic outline, but I'm worried about mythological accuracy. The Furies aren't exactly known for their warm and fuzzy side."
"True," Barb mused. "But remember, you're not writing a textbook. It's fiction. You can take some creative license."
"How much is too much, though?" I asked. "I don't want to completely disregard the source material."
"Think of it this way," Barb suggested. "You're not changing who the Furies are, you're exploring what they could become. It's about growth, right? Use the mythology as a starting point, not a cage."
Her words resonated with me. "That makes sense. Thanks, Barb. Want to hear the basic plot?"
"Hit me," she said.
I ran through the outline, and Barb listened intently, occasionally asking questions or making suggestions. When I finished, there was a moment of silence.
"Well?" I prompted nervously.
"I like it," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "It's got depth, conflict, and heart. But..."
"But what?"
"But I think you need to show us more of Meg's world," Barb explained. "What's it like being a Fury? What are her relationships with her sisters like? Explore the dynamics between them? Give us that cosmic perspective."
I nodded, jotting down notes. "Good point. I'll work on that."
“And Homer?”
“Yeah Barb.”
“Don’t mess with the cosmic order. Remember that the Erinyes are infallible and relentless because they represent the natural order. Meg’s conflict is in her heart, not in her justice.”
After hanging up, I turned back to my outline, expanding on Meg's background and her relationships with Alecto and Tisiphone. As I worked, scenes began to form in my mind. Excited, I opened a new document to capture these "flash fiction" snippets:
---
Flash Fiction 1: The Weight of Duty
Meg stood at the edge of the cosmos, the swirling galaxies reflected in her ancient eyes. Beside her, Alecto twirled her whip absently.
"Another day, another thousand souls to judge," Alecto sighed, but there was no weariness in her voice, only anticipation.
Meg nodded, her own excitement feeling hollow. "Do you ever wonder..." she began, then stopped herself.
Alecto turned, her gaze sharp. "Wonder what, sister?"
Meg shook her head. "Nothing. Let's go. The guilty await."
As they descended towards the mortal realm, Meg couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was shifting within her. But duty called, as it had for eons, and she pushed the doubt aside.
---
Flash Fiction 2: The Courtroom
David Chen's gavel echoed through the courtroom, silencing the murmurs. "In the case of Sophia Pappas," he intoned, his voice firm but not unkind, "this court finds the defendant..."
From the back of the courtroom, invisible to mortal eyes, Meg leaned forward. She'd come to deliver justice, but found herself captivated by the proceedings.
As David delivered his ruling – a nuanced decision that considered both the letter and spirit of the law – Meg felt a strange flutter in her chest. This mortal, this David, seemed to understand something about justice. It included a complexity so different from divine law.
When he looked up, his eyes seemed to meet hers for a brief moment. Impossible, she thought. And yet...
---
Flash Fiction 3: Sisters' Quarrel
"You're distracted," Tisiphone accused, her sword glinting in the ethereal light.
Meg straightened, forcing her features into a mask of indifference. "Nonsense. I'm simply being thorough."
"Thorough?" Alecto scoffed. "You've been watching that mortal judge for weeks. Don't think we haven't noticed."
"His methods are... interesting," Meg defended. "We could learn from-"
"Learn?" Tisiphone interrupted, her voice sharp. "We are the Furies, Megaera. We don't learn from mortals. We punish them."
As her sisters glowered at her, Meg felt the divide between them growing. For the first time in her immortal existence, she wondered if there was more to mortal justice – and to herself – than she had ever imagined.
---
I leaned back, rereading the snippets I'd written. They weren't perfect, but they captured the essence of what I wanted to explore in the larger story. Meg's internal conflict, the allure of the mortal world represented by David, the tension with her sisters – it was all there in embryonic form.
Energized, I returned to my outline, expanding and refining based on these new insights. I added a subplot about Meg secretly observing various human court cases, learning about the complexities of mortal justice. I deepened the relationship between the three Furies, highlighting how Meg's growing doubts create tension with her sisters.
As the day wore on, I found myself fully immersed in Meg's world. The story was taking shape, becoming richer and more nuanced than I had initially imagined. It wasn't just a love story between a Fury and a mortal anymore; it was an exploration of justice, duty, personal growth, and the bridges between cosmic and human understanding.
By evening, I had a comprehensive outline, character profiles, and several key scenes sketched out. I sat back, both exhausted and exhilarated. There was still so much work to do – research to complete, plot holes to fill, characters to flesh out. But for the first time, I felt like I had a real story to tell.
I picked up my phone to share the day's progress with Barb, but hesitated. Instead, I opened a new document and began to write the opening lines of Chapter One. The review was done, and now, Meg's story was truly beginning. Whatever challenges lay ahead in bringing this tale to life, I was ready to face them. After all, I had a Fury on my side.
IX. Reality Check
The next morning, I woke to the harsh buzz of my alarm. For a moment, I was disoriented, my mind still half-immersed in Meg's world. Then reality came crashing back. It was Monday, and I had a staff meeting at the local paper in an hour.
As I rushed through my morning routine, my eyes kept drifting to my laptop, where Meg's story waited. The urge to call in sick and spend the day writing was almost overwhelming. But I couldn't. I had responsibilities, deadlines, bills to pay.
At the office, I found it hard to concentrate. My editor was discussing upcoming assignments, but my mind kept wandering to plot points and character arcs. When she asked me to cover a city council meeting that evening, I had to ask her to repeat herself.
"Everything okay?" she asked, eyeing me with concern.
"Yeah, just... didn't sleep well," I lied, feeling guilty.
As I left the meeting, I checked my phone to find a text from Barb: "How's the story coming? Drinks later?"
I sighed, typing back: "Story's great. Real life... complicated. Drinks sound good."
The rest of the day dragged on. I went through the motions of my job, but my heart wasn't in it. Every spare moment was spent jotting down ideas for Meg's story in a small notebook I kept in my pocket.
By the time I met Barb at our usual bar that evening, I was a bundle of conflicting emotions.
"Whoa, Loman” Barb said as I slumped into the seat across from her. "You look like you've been chased by all three Furies."
I managed a weak smile. "Feels like it. Barb, I don't know what to do. I can't stop thinking about the story, but I've got all these real-world obligations. My job, my rent..."
Barb nodded sympathetically. "The artist's dilemma. So, what are you thinking?"
I took a long sip of my beer before answering. "Part of me wants to quit my job and write full-time. But that's crazy, right? I mean, I've never even published fiction before."
"It's not crazy," Barb said slowly, "but it is risky. What about a compromise?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, could you cut back on hours at the paper? Go part-time? That would give you more time to write without completely losing your safety net."
I considered this. It was a tempting idea, but still scary. "I don't know if they'd go for that. And even if they did, could I make it work financially?"
Barb leaned forward, her expression serious. "Look, I can't tell you what to do. But I will say this: I've never seen you this passionate about anything before. This story... it's lit a fire in you. That's rare. Maybe it's worth taking a risk for."
"You're right," I said, feeling a sense of clarity. "I need to give this a real shot. I'll talk to my editor tomorrow, see if we can work something out."
Barb grinned, raising her glass. "To Meg, and new beginnings."
As we clinked glasses, I felt a mix of excitement and terror.
X. Epilogue: The Next Day
The morning light filtered through my curtains as I sat at my desk, finger hovering over the 'Send' button. My completed review of "The Prisoner's Dilemma" waited in the email draft, ready to be submitted to the local paper. It felt like ages since I'd watched the play, though it had only been a few days. So much had changed since then.
Taking a deep breath, I clicked 'Send'. There was a moment of panic – had I proofread thoroughly enough? Was my analysis clear? – but it was too late now. The review was out of my hands.
I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself a small smile. Despite the distractions and inner turmoil, I'd managed to produce a piece I was proud of. It captured both the technical aspects of the production and the emotional impact it had on me. More importantly, it reflected the spark of inspiration that had led me to Meg's story.
Speaking of which...
I opened a new document, titling it "Fury's Choice - Chapter One". The blank page stared back at me, both inviting and intimidating.
"Megaera stood at the edge of eternity, her ancient eyes surveying the swirling cosmos before her. Galaxies spun in their celestial dance, stars flared into life and died in spectacular supernovas, and through it all, the thread of human lives wove a complex tapestry of choices, consequences, and fleeting moments of grace."
I paused, reading over the words. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. I could feel Meg coming to life in my mind, her presence both awe-inspiring and somehow deeply relatable.
As I continued writing, losing myself in the flow of creativity, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Barb: "Review submitted yet? How's our girl Meg doing?"
I smiled, typing back: "Just sent the review. Starting chapter one now. Meg says hi from the cosmos."
Barb's reply came quickly: "Tell her to keep an eye out for handsome mortal judges!"
Chuckling, I turned back to my writing. As the morning wore on, I found myself reflecting on the journey that had brought me here. What had started as a simple assignment – reviewing a local play – had turned into something so much more profound.
I thought about the power of mythology, how these ancient stories continue to resonate with us today. The Furies, with their uncompromising sense of justice, spoke to something deep within the human psyche. But in reimagining Meg's story, I was also engaging in a tradition as old as mythology itself – reinterpreting these archetypes for a new age, finding new meanings and possibilities within the old tales.
Around noon, I took a break, stretching and moving to the kitchen to make some coffee. It made my place smell like ideas, like progress.
I asked myself a question — Why had Meg's character spoken to me so strongly? Perhaps it was the tension between duty and personal growth that resonated with my own life. Like Meg, I was taking a risk on something new and uncertain. The parallel wasn't lost on me, and it made me feel even more connected to the story I was creating.
Returning to my desk with a steaming mug, my phone popped an email notification, a response to my review. With a mix of anticipation and nervousness, I opened it:
“From my editor: Great work on the review. You really captured the essence of the play, especially the mythological elements. There's a depth to your analysis that I haven't seen before. Keep this up, and we might have to give you more challenging assignments."
I felt a surge of pride, followed quickly by a pang of guilt. I still hadn't talked to her about reducing my hours. That was a conversation for tomorrow, I decided. Today was for Meg.
As I settled back into writing, I marveled at how this story was already changing me. It was pushing me to research Greek mythology, to ponder philosophical questions about justice and morality, to explore the complexities of human nature. In creating Meg's journey, I was on a journey of my own.
The hours flew by, and before I knew it, the sun was setting. I had written several pages, outlining Meg's first encounter with the mortal world and her growing fascination with human concepts of justice. It was rough, full of places that needed expansion or refinement, but it was real. Meg's voice was emerging, distinct and compelling.
Just as I was considering whether to push on or call it a day, my phone rang. It was Barb.
"Hey, Kingsolver,” she said when I answered. "How's the writing going?"
"It's... incredible," I replied, surprised by the emotion in my voice. “I mean I think it will be good, but it feels incredible to bring it to life.”
"I know it’ll be good,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Listen, a bunch of us are grabbing dinner. Want to join? Maybe you could use a break with some mortals.”
I glanced at my screen, feeling the pull to continue writing. But Barb was right – I needed a break, and a little fun.
"Yeah, that sounds great.”
[end]
