Redemption Is A Funny Thing
Chapter 1
A shadowy flash, a whisper of noise; Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, floated through the great unknown. All around him was the endless sea of smoke, forever swirling around, twirling this way that that. It was enough to make a prince nauseous. After a while, Hamlet came to realise that he too was spinning. And he felt very odd. It was a peculiar feeling of disembodiment. Looking at the twirling smoke, he began to feel just like it; a stream of gas gently floating and spinning in the air. But was there air? He couldn't tell. He certainly couldn't feel any wind that might be blowing the smoke to behave as it was. But surely there must be air, for if there was no air, what would the smoke be floating in? Hamlet thought about this for a while. Thinking was hard. All the smoke was like a thick, muzzy mist, which made concentration hard to achieve, so he spent some time, grasping at something he couldn't quite reach, finding it harder and harder to connect thoughts. So caught up in this was he, that he didn't notice his surroundings begin to change.
It was, at first, just a spot of white, remaining constant among the smoke. It didn't stick to any particular stream or follow any unseen wind current; it just stayed in the one spot. Eventually, it became clearer, as if the smoke was trying to move out the way. It became more like a hole in the mist, until eventually, it was a pure beam of clarity. Hamlet looked up and saw it, and instantly, the mist in his mind was lifted. As he stared into the light, the smoke around him seemed to darken. He focused all he could on the light, and watched as it became larger, and larger, and larger until, finally, it consumed him.
When Hamlet woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sharp pain side. A flash of memories and he remembered why. He winced, but the pain began to subside, until, it was gone. His eyes flickered open to see a bizarre landscape; the vertical ground was grey, stony and barren, while the sky was shades of purple. He thought it strange that the ground would be going vertical like a wall, before realising, he was lying on his stomach.
Hamlet got to his knees. He noticed the grey desert to be littered with rock formations here and there, as well as the occasional dark-green shrub. The whole place shouted of Neutral. And he had absolutely no idea where he was.
"Where on earth am I?" he asked, speaking for the first time. He frowned. His voice was different.
"Heeelllllloooo" Hmm, he was different. Not too different. But he definitely sounded…younger.
A gleam of light caught his eye. He looked down to find a small mirror on the ground next to him. "What in the…?" he picked it up and looked at his reflection.
Hamlet was amazed. The face looking back was different to he was used to, ten years younger at least. And there were no bags under his eyes, and the winkle in his forehead was gone. It was if he had died at the age of twenty. Was that what he had done? Died? He supposed so. Why else would he be in a strange place unlike anyone had ever heard of? And he definitely remembered having his thirtieth birthday.
So, he was dead, in a strange place and ten years younger. What next? Talking animals?
"Good guess." said a voice from the ground. Hamlet looked down. A sleek red fox was sitting gracefully in front of him. Hamlet's jaw dropped.
"No need to stare. Humans can be so strange." the fox muttered.
"Wh-"
"Where are you? Well, buddy, you're dead. So, you're in what's known as 'Purgatory'. Interesting place, isn't it?" The Fox interrupted.
"Who –"
"Who am I? My name is Klemens, but you can call me Krys."
"Wh –"
"What am I? Why, I'm a fox; are you blind or something?"
"Can you please stop interrupting? It's very irritating." Hamlet shouted before the fox could interrupt any further.
"Sorry. It's just that I can read your mind, so I find it easier to answer you sooner than to have to wait for you to actually voice your question. It saves time."
Hamlet groaned in frustration. Great, I'm stuck in a technicolour wasteland with an annoying talking fox. I must be in hell, he thought.
"No need to be insulting." Krys replied.
Hamlet sighed and shot a glare at Krys.
"Fine, just ask your questions. I promise not to interrupt." Krys replied, twitching his tail.
"Ok, so, I am dead, this is Purgatory, and you're a talking fox. Have I got is right so far?" Hamlet asked.
"I'm not really a talking fox. Well, I am, but, what I mean is, I used to be a normal, living, non-talking fox, but you see, there is no language barrier here in the afterlife, so you will find that you will be able to talk with all kinds of creatures; cats, dogs, birds, Frenchmen, everything. But other than that, yeah, you've got it all."
"So, what now?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what I said. What do we do now? Am I supposed to just sit here for all eternity? If so, it's a rather disappointing afterlife."
"Sit here? Of course you don't have to, but you can if you want. But now, I'm supposed to take you too see Saint John, the bookkeeper of the afterlife."
"Saint John? I thought it was Saint Peter who was bookkeeper of Heaven." Hamlet replied.
"He is, but you're not in Heaven yet. It's Saint John who will decide if and when you get to move on to Peter." Krys advised him wisely.
"…OK, so, then, fox, where will we find him?" Hamlet asked.
"Just follow me."
A/n: Well, it's my first crack at a Shakespeare fic. I didn't even know he had a catagory until i got interested in Hamlet and decided to check. But now i know, and hopefully this story will recieve a positive reception.
It's a pretty original concept (as far as i know at least) and i hope you like it.
Well, thats all for now. Please review, because there is not better gift you can give than your kind words/comments/criticism.
Ciao for now, and have an awesome day!
Tiger-Cub684