Shakespeare in Love
Peacock Green Hat
My beloved is gone; there is nothing I can do to bring her back. Such overwhelming passion had possessed her and that had meant her untimely end. As I gaze at her lithe, form; I am reminded of the time when she bared all to me.
The story that she desired so much and lived for, I was going to make it hers. An extraordinary soul she had, feminine, but with no whims, masculine, in her movements and her approach to the start of a new day.
Such tenderness I had felt from her, her caressing every fathom of my body, no vein unseen; no part; untouched. The way she would entice me, with her cool, ice eyes; an unbearable colour but unable to resist. I wanted her to become my one, my wife, now it is too late.
Her scintillating dancing, her rapturous curves; her uncanny appearance, all I will treasure. I have no painted picture to remind me of her, all I have is my mind. I could write to her forever, letter upon letter, declaring my unprecedented feelings; she is and always will be, my Viola.
As I sit at my unsteady table, my stool is crooked; but my vision is not. I think about her everyday even though it's only been two weeks since she was murdered, it seems like it was yesterday. That spineless devil stole her away, he thrust his sword through her heart; her pure heart that no longer beat to our rhythm
The Lord Wessex, who cut her down with his malice and sword, is alive and well, his heart beats and his insidious eyes continue to search for a new damsel to despair, once again. I loathe him, I curse him, I shall kill him, this is the vow I made on Viola's body; I shall write with his blood. If I fail to obtain his blood, then I shall write no more.
I have been reduced to skulking around in the dark; I am waiting for my prey to come to the theatre to see one my plays being performed. He enters wearing a red velvet jacket, and a green, peacock hat. The colours clash, it is an awful sight, and he is ruining the atmosphere of the play, as he has ruined the love I have in my heart. It exists no more, only rage can control my being now.
I care no longer if I am caught; I want to stare in the hazy, dead eyes of Lord Wessex too much. I lunge at him; my sword aiming for his heart, the focus on the play has shifted to me. However this isn't a show, it is not acting; this is real life.
Lord Wessex draws his sword in a second and the fight commences, people sitting in that area, run for cover on the stage. He is a good swordsman, I acknowledge that, but I refuse to lose to a man of the sewers. I will kill him and avenge, Viola. He owes her that and so much more.
I duck as he attacks me with his sword in a frenzy instead he has severed some flowers that decorated the stage. A blood rose fall at my feet, I kick it aside with impatience and continue the fight with Lord Wessex.
My eyes begin to blur, as he has injured me with his sword, my right arm is almost cut in half, other a few threads of skin hold it together. Crimson fills my sight, the pain is excruciating; this was how Viola felt.
I can no longer fight or stand, I drop my sword and crash to the hard floor of the theatre, Lord Wessex is laughing in glee, blood is spattered on his clothes and face, it makes his peacock green hat look eerie, but the rest of his attire in unaffected.
I am going to die here; I close my eyes and hum softly to myself, waiting for black to engulf my vision, to take me away from this world and into the next. Nobody will help me, for I decline their help, I do not want live on without, Viola; I cannot endure an empty life for a moment longer. I slip into a deep sleep, not knowing of what is happening around me.
In the black I can see Viola, vividly, clearly, I can hear every beat of her life; feel every touch of her hand, cold and pure. I know that I am dead, I rejoice with that fact that I will no longer have to live without my viola.