This is the beginning of a play I wrote in 2012. Oedipus stands in the middle of the apartment with a bloody knife wound in his leg; blood drips on the floor. He is breathing hard. He wears nothing more than his underwear. Jocasta lies in bed asleep.
Oedipus: Jocasta? JOCASTA!
Jocasta sits up in bed. She is half asleep.
Oedipus: Hey! JOCASTA!
Jocasta (asleep): It’s coming. I don’t want it. I don’t. Please!
Oedipus: Wake up. Wake up!
Jocasta: It’s coming.
Oedipus: You’re dreaming. Wake up! Why did you– you’re dreaming. Wake up.
Jocasta: Help me! It’s so cold. Help me, please. It’s coming!
Oedipus: WAKE UP! Of course you’re cold!
Jocasta brandishes a bloodied knife at Oedipus.
Jocasta (sleepy): What? Why am I… What’s going on?
Oedipus: Yeah, honey, I will take that whiskey, after all. On the rocks, and bring the bottle so I CAN DOWSE MY LEG IN THE STUFF, TOO!
Jocasta: What’re you doing? Why are–you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding!
Oedipus: Just shut up and bring the whiskey.
Jocasta: What’s going on! Oh, my god!
Oedipus: Stay where you are!
Jocasta: Who did this!
Oedipus: PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!
Jocasta: What knife? Ah!
Jocasta tosses the knife on the floor and wipes her hands on the bed clothes.