Hamlet-"Angels Defend Us"
And here we have a nice morbid little Horatio/Ophelia story I wrote while waiting for Math class to start today. I know, I have issues. I'm just in a Hamlet kick right now.
Ophelia danced, weaving in and out of the trees alongside the river. She was singing, but the words of her song faded in and out. Her hem was tattered and stained; one sleeve was almost entirely ripped off. She didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. She just kept going around the trees, singing her melancholy song with sometimes words and picking weeds haphazardly.
Horatio watched.
Ophelia bent to pick a dandylion and stopped short, frozen, when she saw Horatio’s boots. Slowly she stood up and studied him. He stayed still, seated comfortably on the grass, and watched. After a long pause, she spoke.
“Art though from the Lady Queen? If you be, tell her I’ll not come save that my father do call me.”
Horatio shook his head. “Nay, good lady, I come not from the Queen.” She cocked her head to one side, causing some grass to tumble from her golden hair. After some sort of deliberation, she offered Horatio her bouquet of dandylions, river-reeds, and leaved. He took it. She smiled and bent to continue picking weeds.
“Where art thou from, if not from the Queen? Art thou sent by Fortinbras, the Nor’een King. ‘Tis said his men will bring harm to young ladies left alone. But I am not along, for th’art here, aye? Hey good Robin, merry dost thou sing…”
Her oddly cheerful banter trailed off into another strange song. Horatio watched. She scooped up a handful of leaves and threw them up into the air, along with the weeds she had already gathered. Laughing brightly, she twirled around, letting them rain down on her. Her skirts swirled out as she kept twirling, faster and faster, until she lost her footing. She slipped, falling into Horatio’s ready arms. She stared at him for a moment, utterly bewildered.
“I know thee!” she suddenly exclaimed, pulling him down to sit with her on the grass. “Th’art an angel, sent by my father to see that I come when he sends for me. My father is was here, but now he’s gone away. Hast he sent thee?”
Horatio, sitting obediently on the grass while she stared excitedly at him, gave a sad little half-smile and stared past her at the flowing waters. “Aye, m’lady, I have been sent by thy father.”
Ophelia leaned forward and kissed him firmly. Suddenly, her mood changed. Pulling herself onto his lap like a little girl, she asked quietly, “What has my father sent thee to tell me. I know not whether I can do what thou might’st ask of me, for they say I am quite mad, you know.”
Horatio picked a leaf out of her hair. “I do know what they say of thee,” he said, “but I bring thee no message. I come only to look after thee sweet Ophelia.”
Her eyes brightened, but still they were blank. She wrapped her arms arounf him in an embrace, then quickly clambered off his lap and stood up. Horatio watched. Again she cocked her head and studied him.
“If th’art an angel, thou should’st have a halo,” she said firmly. “I’ll make one for thee, thou there’ll not be any violets in’t.” Picking up with another of her strange songs, she began to gather together more plants. Horatio watched. She collected columbine and rosemary, which she tucked into her hair. She gathered up her skirts and tucked them up into her girdle, then grabbed the low hanging branch of a tree. Pulling herself up into the tree, she continued to sing to herself as reached for the mistletoe which hung there. She didn’t notice the slender branch cracking under even her slight weight.
Horatio watched.
Ophelia danced, weaving in and out of the trees alongside the river. She was singing, but the words of her song faded in and out. Her hem was tattered and stained; one sleeve was almost entirely ripped off. She didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. She just kept going around the trees, singing her melancholy song with sometimes words and picking weeds haphazardly.
Horatio watched.
Ophelia bent to pick a dandylion and stopped short, frozen, when she saw Horatio’s boots. Slowly she stood up and studied him. He stayed still, seated comfortably on the grass, and watched. After a long pause, she spoke.
“Art though from the Lady Queen? If you be, tell her I’ll not come save that my father do call me.”
Horatio shook his head. “Nay, good lady, I come not from the Queen.” She cocked her head to one side, causing some grass to tumble from her golden hair. After some sort of deliberation, she offered Horatio her bouquet of dandylions, river-reeds, and leaved. He took it. She smiled and bent to continue picking weeds.
“Where art thou from, if not from the Queen? Art thou sent by Fortinbras, the Nor’een King. ‘Tis said his men will bring harm to young ladies left alone. But I am not along, for th’art here, aye? Hey good Robin, merry dost thou sing…”
Her oddly cheerful banter trailed off into another strange song. Horatio watched. She scooped up a handful of leaves and threw them up into the air, along with the weeds she had already gathered. Laughing brightly, she twirled around, letting them rain down on her. Her skirts swirled out as she kept twirling, faster and faster, until she lost her footing. She slipped, falling into Horatio’s ready arms. She stared at him for a moment, utterly bewildered.
“I know thee!” she suddenly exclaimed, pulling him down to sit with her on the grass. “Th’art an angel, sent by my father to see that I come when he sends for me. My father is was here, but now he’s gone away. Hast he sent thee?”
Horatio, sitting obediently on the grass while she stared excitedly at him, gave a sad little half-smile and stared past her at the flowing waters. “Aye, m’lady, I have been sent by thy father.”
Ophelia leaned forward and kissed him firmly. Suddenly, her mood changed. Pulling herself onto his lap like a little girl, she asked quietly, “What has my father sent thee to tell me. I know not whether I can do what thou might’st ask of me, for they say I am quite mad, you know.”
Horatio picked a leaf out of her hair. “I do know what they say of thee,” he said, “but I bring thee no message. I come only to look after thee sweet Ophelia.”
Her eyes brightened, but still they were blank. She wrapped her arms arounf him in an embrace, then quickly clambered off his lap and stood up. Horatio watched. Again she cocked her head and studied him.
“If th’art an angel, thou should’st have a halo,” she said firmly. “I’ll make one for thee, thou there’ll not be any violets in’t.” Picking up with another of her strange songs, she began to gather together more plants. Horatio watched. She collected columbine and rosemary, which she tucked into her hair. She gathered up her skirts and tucked them up into her girdle, then grabbed the low hanging branch of a tree. Pulling herself up into the tree, she continued to sing to herself as reached for the mistletoe which hung there. She didn’t notice the slender branch cracking under even her slight weight.
Horatio watched.