[done as a result of mental disarray from intensive mugging for end-of-years.
i shan't reckon i think I'm so INSPIRED to write a fan fiction out of my literature text, but it was just trying to plug in holes in the story. i like merchant of Venice well enough, and find the characters intriguing, but i still think that there're still questions, like why Antonio can be both so loving and spiteful. (especially when no one else seems to spite Shylock so.)
it's in prose, and not drama, because i really can't write in iambic pentameter, and my poetry is horrid.
either way, enjoy, and i hope you understand my reasoning & not think that I've gone mental after the exams " of course, comments greatly appreciated :D
ONE
He fingered her turquoise ring mindlessly yet lovingly, but she withdrew her hand almost abruptly and stood up.
Antonio called out. "Where're you going?"
"Home," came her simple answer, replying without much of a turning around.
"I will follow you," Antonio said adamantly. "Besides, I have never been there."
"No," she said, this time turning around and facing Antonio severely. "You won't like it, I promise you." Without another syllable between them, Leah left Antonio's residence and out to the canals of Venice.
Jessica walked down the cobbled street with Lorenzo beside her, all the time listening to the tune of his flute. The music was magical; it seemed to have the power of shuttling her into another world where money was unheard of. The sweet chirp of birds that heralded the spring became a common sight in that land, and flowers covered the streets, instead of hard marble.
Suddenly, the tune came to an abrupt halt; there was nothing much of a slow descending back to reality. Jessica frowned slightly, turning to face Lorenzo. "Continue," she urged. "It was pretty."
"That's enough for the day," Lorenzo said. "Music has to come slowly, and you shall treasure this for the entire day."
"I promise," Jessica replied truthfully, the tune replaying in her head. She stared admiringly at the rich wooden finish of the flute and thought of how it could churn out a sound sweeter than honey.
"Where have you both been?" Shylock growled as his wife and daughter entered the house together.
"Somewhere," Leah replied vaguely as she brought Jessica to her room.
"Exactly where?"
"Why do you need to know?" Leah asked, temper rising in her voice, hoping anger would conceal her innermost emotion—fear.
"Why not?" Shylock countered. "Besides, I'm the breadwinner. I've got the right to know everything that happens under this roof."
"I've got the right to speech then," Leah replied coolly. "I've got the right not to speak."
With an indignant huff, Shylock got out of the room and into Jessica's bedroom.
"Little Bassanio," Antonio started, his eyes following the little boy as he locked the gate and approached the table. "How was your day at school?"
"Quite alright," Bassanio replied, taking a seat beside him. "There was archery today, and I managed to recover an arrow I lost."
"Ah, my smart boy," Antonio replied, smiling. "She was right in asking me to take you under my shelter."
"Where's mom?" Bassanio asked.
Antonio paused, not knowing for a moment how to answer. Then, he collected all his calm and lied, "She has some important work to do, and so she's not here."
"Where're you going, Papa?" Bassanio asked, as Antonio got up and headed for the door.
"Business," Antonio fabricated another lie, the guilt swelling hot and heavy in his mind.
"Jews are funny," Lorenzo commented.
"How so?" Bassanio asked, fingering restlessly with his shaft.
"Jessica must be back at her house when the sun's still so high," Lorenzo explained, a subtle lament in his voice. When Bassanio only shrugged in response, Lorenzo diverted the issue. "You're feeling so bored today."
"I'm thinking," Bassanio said detachedly.
"How so?" Lorenzo echoed Bassanio's question moments ago.
"In my mind," Bassanio started. "I only think of the streets of Venice, and this scruffy cloth i have on me. But I've never worn one, or at least I remember it that way."
"I think you've just been thinking too much, that's why."
"Yeah," Bassanio agreed,still lost in thought. Actually his memory was much, much clearer--he was in the scruffy suit, but someone had approached him. He couldn't tell who that figure was, nor the person following that shady person, but that was all to his recollection.
On the streets, a head suddenly popped into view. She was not unfamiliar, and when her eyes met his, they widened and she disappeared immediately from his view. He frowned, sensing something amiss from her elusive darting. He called out her name, but she feigned ignorance. He frowned once more; she loved her name and loved it even more when it was him calling it. She never failed to respond.
She thought that she had shaken him off from the bridge, but it was not the case. He was still eagerly tagging behind, but she couldn't tell. When she was far from the mass of humanity, calling out wares and waving ducats, she allowed a sigh of relief. What she did not know, was that when she reached her house, he was still behind, watching, a few feet away.
His eyes widened when he looked at her enter the ghetto. The revelation hit hard on him; why was he so unsuspecting? Had he just fallen so deeply in love he didn't notice the reality? What he did not know, was that there were more in store for him.
I know I have a weird way of writing, that it comes in small paragraphs, and that there's this constant shift in points of view. But I'm curious to know if you like it or not, so I'm hoping someone review, though I know people don't actually read Shakespeare fan fiction.