Painting Dialogue

The pale winter sun shone merrily through the window, casting striped shadows across the reclining lion. Rolling on his back in the dirt, he wriggled back and forth, acting more like a kitten than the lean killer he was reputed to be. “Will you hold still already? Relax and quit blocking my light.”

The lumbering brown bear growled his annoyance. “Go eat your tail.”

“My my, someone’s grumpy this morning. Get up on the wrong side of the cell?” Rolling, the lion stretched out his paws, snatching at the bear’s receding feet.

“Why don’t you ever take anything seriously? Don’t you ever feel bad about what we do?” The bear snarled, frustration oozing from his voice.

“Why should I? I get fresh meat three times a day, a nice sunny room and a chance to run and play a few times a week.”

“Because we’re killing people! Those aren’t mice or gazelles or whatever you used to chase, those are intelligent people who are imprisoned, just like us.”

“What do I care? They run just like the gazelles. They can get away if they’re any good. I always give them a fighting chance.” Flipping onto his stomach, the lion began to stalk the still pacing bear.

“Hamstringing doesn’t count as a fighting chance.” The bear sighed and rolled his eyes. Sometimes his friend just didn’t get it.

“Admit it – at least it beats being a rug on some Senator’s floor. Don’t forget what happened to the last one of us who refused to fight.” The lion wriggled closer, sneaking up on the unsuspecting bear’s paws. Crouching down, his mouth dropped, teeth chattering in the ancient hunting song. Just as the bear turned, the lion sprung, flying through the air to land on the him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Growls and snarls filled the air as they battered each other with carefully sheathed claws.

“Enough, enough!” the bear panted, “I give!”

“Of course you do,” the lion purred. Sitting on his heels, he spat on his paw and began to slowly groom his ears. “Now, why are you so upset?”

The bear shook his head, somehow the lion could always pull him out of his moods and make him articulate his problems. “It’s just that we keep eating all these people, and for what? At least if they kill us they have a chance at freedom. All we get are cheers and an escort back to our cell. I just don’t see the point.”

“The point is that we don’t end up as rugs. Besides, someday they might get tired of us and just forget and let us go.” The lion continued washing his face, something about the repetitive motion helped him think.

“Quit kidding yourself. They’ll never let us go. We’ll just keep going out, killing, coming back, over and over again until we slip up and get ourselves killed.” Turning away, the bear plodded to his corner and curled up in a ball, depressed.

The shadows cast by the bars in the window crawled across the floor, marking the passage of the sun. As the light faded, the shadows began to blur, blending into the falling night. Disquieted, the lion sat, Sphinx-like, staring at nothing.

The moon rose, casting its healing light over the slumbering bear, casting deep pools of shadow on the lion’s unblinking face. Still nothing moved.

Dawn began to break, casting a rosy glow on the stone walls of the cell. Finally, the lion blinked. Determined now, he stalked over to the bear and roughly prodded him awake.

“W-what’s going on? Why is it so early?” The bear stammered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Wake up and listen up. I have a plan.” Excited now, the lion began to pace as he spoke, tail lashing with emotion. “We have a light day today, some more of those pious folk. They never attack us willingly. So we wait. Today, we don’t attack first. When the guards come down to prod the people and give them swords, we make our break for it - out the doors and south to freedom.”

The bear was dumbfounded. “Where did all this come from? Last night you were happy to stay caged and chase your tail.”

“I don’t know, I just thought about what you said. Besides, if I have to be a rug, I don’t want to be an old rug.”

“Ha, figures. I like the sound of this, though, but I think we need to work out some details…”

Heads bent, the lion and the bear cemented the details of their plan, talking through the dawn and well into the day. With a last furtive glance around their cell, they curled up in the sunlight, trying to rest.

As the shadows stretched in the afternoon light, the lion and the bear stalked out into the arena, tense with anticipation. The crowd was unusually subdued, they hardly got any cheers.

The lion was jittery, bouncing from paw to paw, even his voice shook. “Something’s wrong. What’s going on?”

The bear stopped, confused. “I don’t know. Let’s just wait and see what happens, calm down. It’ll be alright.”

With a few final murmurs, the crowd fell silent. Two men entered, walking slowly. They were speaking quietly, seemingly unconcerned. Confused, the lion and bear glanced at each other. This had never happened before.

“Are we still on?” the lion whispered.

“Let’s just wait and see what happens.”

The men approached, not threatening, but not slowing. The lion and bear stood their ground, waiting to make their escape.

“Alright,” the bear said, “if they attack, let’s just kill them and run for it. If they do nothing, we wait and stick to the plan.”

The men came closer and closer until they stood over the lion and bear, arms raised. Trembling with anticipation, the lion and bear crouched down, ready to spring.

Writing Journal

I chose to write about option c (Gentileschi’s St. Januarius) because it was the one option that didn’t have to be about religious figures. I don’t feel comfortable writing about religious figures in a mocking way, and I don’t know enough about the religious stories to base them on that. Besides, I thought it would be fun to write a story from a gladiator animal’s point of view.

I get bored writing this much dialogue, just because I know I would be bored reading it. I need some description in there, but I tried not to add too much for this assignment. It was also hard to show with dialogue; I feel like so much of actual dialogue is telling, not showing, except in the tone of voice, and tone of voice is hard to convey in stories.

Seeing the pictures didn’t really help me to be creative, but I think that’s just because they weren’t topics I particularly wanted to write about. I also don’t like the way it makes the story end so abruptly, especially since most people will be reading this without seeing the picture.

Naples had much more contrast than Rome. They dirt, the thugs, the locked gate to our hotel, they are all at odds with the beautiful view from the waterfront and St. Elmo’s Castle. The people in Naples were more friendly than those in Rome, which I thought was weird, especially since they are smiling while they try to shortchange you. I do think that location can change the way a person writes, but I don’t think I was in Naples long enough for it to impact me to that extent. The attitudes and scenery in your location can change the way you describe events and your take on them.