Juliet's Repose
I drink the potion, and feel my body fall, but my mind sleeps not. My breaths become so shallow that they are undetectable, even to myself, and I begin to worry
that Friar Lawrence has poisoned me, but thankfully, I continue to live. I grow cold, so cold. I would have shivered, had I been in any way able to control my body.
To my surprise, my mind stays awake, able to hear, feel, smell, and even, to some degree, taste. It is wonderful, but horrible. I hope to be able to sleep when they
put me in the Vault. The smell there I do not want to think about, and all of my senses seem to have intensified with this false sleep.
But I must no dwell on these horrors, only on the end. To be with my fair, sweet Romeo, this will all be worth it. Ah, Romeo! To have a moment married to you is
worth more to me than an eternity to Paris.
I spend the night thinking only of my Romeo. My mind never sleeps, my senses never falter, till morning. My mind begins to drift, dreaming, as I hear Nurse come in,
bumbling to herself. Ah, Nurse! Had you been sympathetic, perhaps you, to, would be apart of our scheme, to escape with sweet Romeo and I, perhaps nursing our
children, as you nursed me. But, it is not to be, and I joy in hearing your scream.
Mother and Father enter, and a wave of rage clashes with one of guilt. Father does truly love me, as does Mother, but they should not have forced me into the
marriage. They wail and cry, as they exit the room, leaving Nurse to prepare me for the funeral. Finally, my mind sleeps, readying itself for the joy to come from
seeing my Romeo.
I gain conciseness to the murmuring of an angel, the voice so soft and sweet it may well break my heart. I feel a thrill of fear. Am I dead? Without seeing my true
love, my soul mate, my other half? But . . . no. A blanket of calm settles over me as I realize that the angel is my Romeo. I can't quite hear the words he says. Just a
moment later, it doesn't matter. He kisses me. So like his voice, this kiss is so soft, and very, very sweet. The taste of his lips on mine is almost unbearable, and I
sorrow that I can not kiss him back. Then he takes my hand, and kisses it. There is a tension in his jaw that worries me, but not enough to offset the love and calm
I feel. He drops my hand, and pulls away. I can hear the Friar, now. Perhaps Romeo is talking to him. I suddenly feel warmth, and rejoice that I am waking, for now
I may see the angel I have heard and felt. I stir, and start to mumble incomprehensibly. The Friar is there, and is talking of Convents and Nuns. Why would he be
doing that? I look around, and suddenly feel as if I am dieing, for my heart is splitting in two. My Romeo, my sweet, my love, Romeo . . . is dead. I choke, tears
unable to form in my grief. The sight of Paris, lying near him in a pool of blood does not even register as the physical pain of my heartache blinds me with a
darkness so complete, that my life is not worth living any longer. The Friar is trying to talk, but I push him away with words I say, but don't hear. He leaves, and my
wailing forms words that I don't understand. The bottle of poison in Romeo's hand gives me hope, but it is empty, and I lack an easy death. I even kiss his lips, in
hope of a single drop to kill, but to no avail. I hear the Watch coming, and I see my love's dagger, once more lighting up hope. I hear my dramatic last words
echoing around me, and laugh hysterically at the black humour, of me dieing in my own crypt. I plunge the dagger into my already broken heart, and my peace
claims me in the second before I join my Romeo forever.
