Ophelia
By SMYGO4EVA
Do not, as
some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to
heaven,
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself
the primrose path of dalliance treads.
And recks not his own rede.
(Ophelia, scene iii, Hamlet)
Many thoughts of instability bled through her, as she fought herself from within. She sat on the branch of the tree that loomed over the shimmering lake beneath her. Her silver hair felt past her face, luminous in the moon's light and the white eerie glow of the blossoms above her. She never thought that she would feel this way. She had never seen herself in this situation before, so it was even more confusing for her to even think about. She was in love, in a deep form that had never been experienced before.
She was in love with a man whom her superiors want her to abandon, to forsake, and to forget completely. She didn't want to forget, yet she wanted the memory of him to be cast away in the phases of the moon. Her eyes were blank and lifeless when she saw him previously, in confusion and in wonder of his appearance. He lusted for her so deeply; so much that it left a scar inside her. One that he couldn't see, one that she would never see. One that would leave her screaming his name and writhing beneath him while she felt herself growing closer to the insanity he felt after the midst of slaughter.
She knew that she would be his and his alone, but she never knew that it would hurt so much. She thought she would manage to accept that fate, but she didn't know that it took time to accept the deepest of shadows one places inside us. She clenched her fist, trembling slightly. She didn't need to hide behind the cloak of night to see him. He was deceased when she last saw him. He was beheaded, whereas she stood by, watching in horror, feeling the tears trickle down her face.
She didn't need to wait for him. No….she could just find him for herself. On her own, in her own way. And with that, she pushed herself off the branch she sat on, feeling the grasp of gravity pulling her down, and she plunged into the lake below her. The water felt cool to the touch and to her surprise, she never had the urge to swim back to the surface. The surface only hurts you, scars you, and drags you from inner peace. The roots from the bottom of the lake elongated themselves, bringing their lifeless bodies to fruition and they wrapped themselves around her legs, rooting her to the ground. She was still then, very still.