Prompt: 049 - Fine Art: Shakespeare - Short Story
Title: Soliloquy of a Slayer
Author: Laurtew
Rating: PG
Word Count: 227
Prompt: 049 - Fine Art - Shakespeare
Character: Buffy
To slay, or not to slay: that is the question:
Whether 'tis cooler in the mind to suffer
The stings and bites of nasty vampires,
Or to fight against a bunch of slimy demons,
And by dusting, end them? To Slay: to dust;
No more; and by a dusting to say we end
The nastiness and the thousand hell dimensions
That evil is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To rest, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of Slayers what dreams may come
When we have dreamed of what *will* come,
It must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes “sacred calling” of so long life;
For who would bear the jokes and scorns of other students,
The evil's wrong, the Master's contumely,
The pangs of dis-ensouled love, the mother's delay,
The insolence of toady principals and the spurns
That even your best friends will give you,
To grunt and sweat to bouncy music,
But that the dread of the Watcher from it,
And he who makes us rather bear his grumpiness we have
Than just listen to the music he knows not of?
Thus homework does make cowards of us all;,
And lose the name of Slayer.--Soft you now!
The fair Angel! Dream guy, in thy orisons
Be all my adventures remember'd.
Author: Laurtew
Rating: PG
Word Count: 227
Prompt: 049 - Fine Art - Shakespeare
Character: Buffy
To slay, or not to slay: that is the question:
Whether 'tis cooler in the mind to suffer
The stings and bites of nasty vampires,
Or to fight against a bunch of slimy demons,
And by dusting, end them? To Slay: to dust;
No more; and by a dusting to say we end
The nastiness and the thousand hell dimensions
That evil is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To rest, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of Slayers what dreams may come
When we have dreamed of what *will* come,
It must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes “sacred calling” of so long life;
For who would bear the jokes and scorns of other students,
The evil's wrong, the Master's contumely,
The pangs of dis-ensouled love, the mother's delay,
The insolence of toady principals and the spurns
That even your best friends will give you,
To grunt and sweat to bouncy music,
But that the dread of the Watcher from it,
And he who makes us rather bear his grumpiness we have
Than just listen to the music he knows not of?
Thus homework does make cowards of us all;,
And lose the name of Slayer.--Soft you now!
The fair Angel! Dream guy, in thy orisons
Be all my adventures remember'd.