The fall of Tybalt

He drank the whiskey slowly; tasting its bitterness in hopes it would make him forget. The third glass. His vision had gone a blur, and his head in a whirl. His hand dropped, and the glass hit the floor. 'I never meant it… I would never…' The words repeating in his head over and over.

Petruchio, who had been at his side the whole time, was trying his best to persuade Tybalt out of his misery. His attempt was weak, but he was so loyal." Please, Tybalt! Please! You didn't know! Don't do this to yourself!" He ignored Petruchio's words, and went on to the 4th glass. His sword was still stained with Mercutio's blood. His mind replayed the scene again and again, until he couldn't stand it anymore.

He walked out of the bar, Petruchio, coming after him." Tybalt! Don't! If Romeo finds you, he'll surely kill you! Stop! He's probably looking for like a fox dog! STOP! PLEASE!" Petruchio screams at him, pulling the man's arm back into the bar. But Tybalt pushes him off, and makes his way down the street. As he walks into the rainy, dreadful night, his eyes begin to water. He then looked to the side, and saw a single rose sticking out of a closed floral shop. He grabbed the flower, and makes his way to the beach. The same place where he struck Mercutio.

As he dropped the rose on Mercutio's true grave, he thought of what he could have done. What he could've prevented. He then looked up to the dark cloudy sky in awe. As if he was searching for Mercutio's soul. 'I wish I could say sorry…' He thinks to himself. A car's engine is blasting from the distance; the head lights on high. Its tires screech to a stop. Tybalt doesn't flinch, but cocks his head towards the car, looking wearily at the figure walking his way fast. "…….. Here I come…. Mercutio…"