The Child’s right hand slaps again and again at the blunt ledge, hoping for a better hold, failing to see the big side-pull above, too pumped in mind and body to make good decisions, failing to throw a heel up, too afraid to commit for the vision of pinging off and cratering into a wall that has been responsible for more than a few limps and cracked skulls. The Child’s grimace sours even more, he makes a skittering move back towards the spike jug halfway across the traverse. Then whoosh, the blur, he is off.
It was then that he, Oedipus, slayed me, his father.
The tale of Oedipus is horrifying. A tragic Greek hero who unknowingly kills his father, the king of Thebes,
