For Chibiflamsi. Who wanted me to put it up. Primarily on dA. But it's here too. Obviously. Title ripped off From First To Last. His Teen Angst Has A Body Count
Horatio had never been a believer in the occult or paranormal despite the incessant attempts of his classmates to convince him otherwise. One would think that being away from home would cause a sheltered young adult to indulge in all the radical, non-conservative ideas in existence among those within their age group; Horatio, however, during his time at the University had become no more liberal than Hamlet had gotten over the death of his father.
(While on the subject of death)
The death had been sudden and quite sorrowful, or so Horatio had been told. He would have liked to have gone to the funeral, but due to unforeseen circumstances (such as his friends taking it upon themselves to become Ghostbusters) he apparently missed the funeral by a day or two, but would have been able to make it in time for the wedding had Franschizo, Barnacle, and Marfreudio not seen the ghost. (Italics point placed.)
The so-called specimen of proof confirming the existence in the supernatural could have been, for all Horatio cared, the lost soul of a cat. But, of course, the three stooges had to have seen the ghost of Prince Hamlet's recently deceased father. Naturally, as all skeptics would agree, proof was required. Although Horatio would have preferred it later rather than right away, but enthusiasts will be enthusiastic. They simply had to show him.
Right away.
By the time Horatio and the others had arrived in Denmark, any hope that Prince Complains-a-lot would have gotten perhaps a bit over the sudden death of his beloved father, was swept up by the wind. They found his Majesty in a tower overlooking the city of Denmark mumbling to himself about how incredulous it was that his mother married his uncle so soon after the death of his father.
If Horatio hadn't known any better, he'd have thought something along the lines of an Oedipus complex and the Ham being jealous of his new stepfather, but, of course, he knew better than that.
Rubbish such as his complaints of "my father's brother, but no more like my father than I to Hercules" were used only to express his exasperation with his mother's remarriage. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Hail to your lordship," Horatio, figuring Hamlet had ceased his monologue for the time being and was safe to approach, stepped forward only to be reprimanded on the spot.
"Back, peasant, who are you? Or do I forget myself?"
"No, my lord, ever your poor servant,"
"Ah, Horatio."
Horatio closed his eyes and nodded, almost praying to God for patience. "Aye, my lord,"
Hamlet nodded and turned back to look out from his tall, dank tower. "What make you from Wittenberg?"
Horatio hesitated, glancing at his three companions all whom had seen the ghost. Save for Horatio, of course. But, they never would have come to Denmark had he not pretended to see the apparition.
"I came to see your father's funeral—"
"Do not mock me, follow student. You came to see my mother's wedding,"
Horatio sighed. The high and mighty were quite prone to interrupt their lesser subjects and jump to conclusions. Horatio was well aware that Prince Hamlet was not stupid (he was anything but, but too much intelligence, at least Horatio thought so, could become quite a bit of a problem).
"Nay, we don't mock you. We actually sort of came to, um," Horatio glanced back at the others who, large eyed and clutching their lapels, urged him to go on. "To tell you that we saw the ghost of your father."
"My father?" Hamlet asked, turning away from the window and moving to stand beside Horatio, his face inquiring if a bit suspicious.
No, my father. "Yes," Horatio continued. "I believe he may be under the assumption that you may want to take revenge for his unexplained death."
Hamlet started, his face coming in close proximity to Horatio's. "Really? Has he information?"
"No, actually, I was joking, your majesty."
However, Hamlet had not heard him. Instead, he turned about again and began to pace up and down past the window. "If it assumes my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape and bid me hold my peace." Hamlet ceased his pacing suddenly and whipped about to face Horatio: "My father's spirit! All is not well. I'll come visit you."
Horatio had been about to answer when something outside the tower caught his Prince's eye. "Oh, look. The fair Ophelia. Have you heard of her beauty, Horatio? She is quite ravishing…"
After having left the presence of Prince Hammerhead and his inconsistent ramblings of his father's ghost, revenge, and the absent-minded Ophelia, Horatio found himself to be in the company of the lady who seemed to have at least half of the prince's attention.
The fair Ophelia (or so she was addressed) was a charming (and exceedingly young) girl with dark hair and a sweet pale face that almost definitely belonged to an idealist. She had a protective older brother (Laertes by name; Horatio was sure he'd met him at some point in time) and a father who was quite the King's lap dog. From the few minutes he had spoken to her, her two favorite things seemed to be Hamlet and poetry.
Although it did not go by unnoticed (or unsaid) that her father Bolognious wanted her to stay as far away from Hamlet as possible to protect her maidenhead.
It was during this interlude that Horatio saw the Ophelia-Hamlet situation handled: which included Hamlet's never-ending messages and Ophelia's obnoxious coo. Had the messages been for anyone else but Ophelia, Horatio was sure Hamlet would have been taken to the police. Merely standing by the door entrance of her home and listening made him feel crowded:
"Hey, Ophelia? It's the Ham. It's six o-five. I guess you're not home yet. Call me."
"Hey, Ophelia? It's Hamlet. It's six fifteen… call me."
"Ophelia? It's me again. Call me."
"Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love…call me."
"Ophelia? Uh, it's six twenty eight. Are you really home and just not answering me? Because if you aren't, you're really worrying me. Call me when you get in."
Horatio wasn't sure who to feel sorry for: Ophelia and her having to listen to all those messages without picking up, or Polonius for having to listen to them later. Polonius, however, contrary to what Horatio believed prior to the circumstances, was overjoyed with Hamlet's stalker-like attraction to his daughter and went so far as to take it up with Claudius and the Queen.
Which of course, ended with Hamlet rounding on poor Woe-is-me and demanding that she, fickle as all women are (or simply his mother), get to a nunnery. Or a whorehouse. But then again, as far as rejecting his affections one day then accepting them the next, one could not have blamed the sorrowful plotting prince. It was rather whore-ish of her. Even if it was under her father and the King's orders.
The conclusion Polonius had so surely come to about Hamlet going mad over the lost love of his daughter (although Horatio thought him mad to begin with: seeing ghosts? Sign one) went out the window. In result, Hamlet was sent off to England with Full-of-Crap and Guilty-Where-He-Stands (who were never seen again). Naturally, this was after Hamlet revealed a rather disturbing idea to the courts (in playwright form) that Claudius was responsible for the death of his father (side affects from seeing ghosts, Horatio decided) and put out Polonius's lights. Permanently.
It was during this time that Oh-Woe-Is-Me decided to become a suicide girl. Self-expression, independence, and all. Perhaps it was due to the sudden departure of Hamlet, the violent death of her father, or even Hamlet's harsh rejection of her. Regardless of which, it pulled the rebel out of her. She became so rebellious in fact, that she drowned. Literally. As in, her lungs filled with water from the river.
It was Kate Chopin's The Awakening starring Ophelia.
Horatio knew this due to the Queen's having been there the entire time (of the drowning) and her story correlation of the death after the fact. In his mind's eye, Horatio could just picture the conversation: Ophelia, crazed and eccentrically poetic, slowly sinking into the river as the dainty Queen watched on.
"Need you any assistance, dear Ophelia?"
"Yes; could you throw me that pretty little flower over there? I fear I dropped it. Or one like it."
"Is there anything else you would like for me to do whilst I stand right here on the dry side of the river bank with my many menservants and maids?"
"Um. Probably not. At least nothing I can think of at the moment. Just leave me to perish to the dark spiraling watery abyss that shall become my watery grave."
"Okay."
"Tell my brother when the deed is done?"
"Of course. Anything else, sweet Ophelia, whom I hope will marry my Hamlet someday?"
*gurgles*
Horatio knew not how such people were able to function amongst others everyday. When Hamlet arrived (without Rosencrantz and Guildenstern) and discovered the death of Ophelia, he professed his undying love for her and all but wrestled her brother in her grave.
With the turn of events turning out as they were, Horatio, perhaps the only sane member of the revenge hungry, murderous, fickle, helpless, treacherous, insane group, predicted that in the end, they would all kill each other.
Claudius would try to poison Hamlet as he is suspected (by the Ham) of doing to his father. But Hamlet, being the too smart for you type of guy that he is, would give the poisoned drink to his mother, who will undoubtedly drink it (as she had no mind for her own (as did Opie before she went all Beauty and the Beast on us, as in releasing the beauty and giving in to the beast) and did whatever her husbands told her to do) and die.
Hamlet and Laertes would then proceed to duke it out, picking up where they left off at Ophelia's grave and Hamlet would stick Law-and-Order where it counted, leaving him for dead as he forced the King to drink the very poison he had tried to poison him with.
They would all then lie in a bloody heap upon the castle floor dead and dying as he, Horatio walked about (ever the fool and subordinate to no one) and watched as Hamlet drank from the same poisoned cup as his mother and uncle and die leaving Horatio to tell the tale for those who cared to know.
But then again, maybe he was giving them too much credit.
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