Disclaimer: don't own Midsummer Night's Dream. Now onto the story!

Quince's Diary

Hello dear friend, tis' I Peter Quince.

Today I have given my friends the script of my play, the first of many I assure you, Pyramus and Thisbe. Nick was surely pleased at this announcement and it only increased when he heard that he was to play the lover Pyramus. Francis, however, was not as thrilled.

"Nay, faith let me not play a woman. I have a beard coming," he had protested pointing at non-existent hair on his chin. The others had laughed at his remark but I silently glared at Flute. Truly that was the most idiotic thing I've heard. Out of the five of us, Francis looked closest to a girl. I even bet that if he wore a dress-maybe a wig-he could walk the streets of Athens without anyone giving him a second glance.

To tell the truth, I woke up last night to find a certain tightness in my pants after having a dream of Flute in a dress. It was such a beautiful image. The blue dress was tightly fitted around his slim body and his soft blonde hair was let loose, floating against his back. His eyes shone like the stars in the night sky. "Quince!" he had called out to me and soon he was running towards me. The angel was coming towards me and I caught him with open arms.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I felt the tightness in my pants and sighed. No matter how beautiful it was, this was wrong. How could I ever feel this way about another man? No, he was different. Flute wasn't just some other man. He was, was, something else to me. Not a friend but something more. I-I think I love him.

I feel sick. Flute is in love with the baker's daughter. If I tell him now, he'd surely think that I was mocking him either that or intoxicated. I'll just watch from a far and watch as he falls in love with that woman.

No, it'll kill me if I do. To watch him be with another, smiling his angelic smile at her. To watch him hold her in his arms I'd slowly die. I want him, all of him. I want his everything, his mind, his body, his being. I want him to only think about me every breathing moment of the day. I want my image to haunt his mind.

I will tell him, and whatever becomes of it I will embrace with open arms. For this is an act done out of love and I want him to know it so.

Peter Quince

Author Note: My english teacher called me crazy after she read this one...saying that you'd have to be in order to give this to your 8th grade english teacher...am i crazy?