Sort of a drabbly pre-writing thing for a larger piece, called "Silence," which is not posted here because it's NC-17, but is available on my website, which is google-able (or find the URL on my profile):
The Blue Rose Bookshelf: Fiction and Fandom by Ranae des Roses
Hamlet had had too much of words.
Since the crowning of the new king, everything was words. Words at his father's funeral. Words at his mother's marriage. Words at his uncle's court. Words about grief and joy and shame and comfort and never anything real. Words, words, words, when all he wanted to do was scream.
Maybe if he could scream loud enough he could drown out the words and there would be silence.
Horatio had no use for words.
Words had failed him every time Hamlet had come to him, in grief and in agony, wordless. And Horatio, for all his scholarship and study of rhetoric and philosophy and eloquence had had no words to give to Hamlet. He had only his arms to offer, what little comfort and safety his embrace could give. If he tried for words, if he forced them out, more often than not they seemed to hurt Hamlet more than help. So he stopped.
Horatio couldn't hear himself over the screaming of Hamlet's tormented blue eyes anyway.
