This is my first post here. Interestingly enough, I actually wrote this for English class, as a creative writing assignment in response to the book we were reading, Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I actually don't particularly like Huck Finn, and I respect Twain much more as a critic and a short-story writer than as a novelist, but this actually came out quite well, so I figured I'd revise it again and post it. This takes place soon after the escape from the angry audience after the performances of the Royal Nonesuch. 972 words. Enjoy.
Huck always liked to watch the sunset, especially on nights such as this, when it seemed that the sky had been commissioned for art of the greatest color and extravagance. Trailing his toes in the water as he lounged on the riverbank, he watched admiringly as the horizon bloomed with rich hues: golden orange and radiant yellow and velvety pink. If only he, Huck, could create such art. That girl, Emmeline, she had made beautiful art; so had his new friends, the King and the Duke—here Huck glanced back to see where the Duke was having a conversation with Jim, of which Huck caught only snippets—though the King was absent at the moment. But for now, it was fine; it was perfectly contenting to lay back in the long grass that prickled his neck, listening to the night's first crickets and watching the sun sink below the trees, their leaves glowing green against the black silhouettes of the trunks.
"What was that—?" Huck snapped his head around as he heard a twig crack, startling him out of his thoughts. He immediately regretted this; his neck apparently could not account for such vigilance, and he whimpered in pain.
"Don't start; it's just me!"
"And that's great to know now, I'm sure, oh great King. The pain I just suffered is nothing for me to bask in your radiance."
"I'm glad you see it that way," said the King. "I was worried that you had all left me behind intentionally."
"Oh, never, my wonderful and noble King!" cried the Duke. "My Lord! My Liege! Oh honorable and righteous Monarch, forgive us for acting on such base instincts of self-preservation!" By this point, the speech was accompanied by wild gesticulations as the Duke fell to his knees, crying in either remorse or mirth.
"Not to worry, for I have returned!"
Jim, who had been about to speak, closed his mouth with a snap. Perhaps it was best not to speak among mad people? Yes, let us go along with this, lest the situation become even more uncomfortable. And so Jim said nothing.
The King had no such reservations.
"But," he declaimed, "I have come to the conclusion that our future exploits must not end with the throwing of rotten fruit! And so, I have found us a new soliloquy to perform: from Shakespeare's Hamlet!"
"But did we not just perform that recently, oh magnificent Despot?"
"No, for this one is a totally different speech—one perhaps even more dramatic and likely to gain the crowd's attention."
"I suppose this Hamlet guy must have loved to talk, huh?"
The King and the Duke turned to Huck slightly startled, having forgotten him to be a part of the conversation. "Yes…. Yes, I suppose so," said the Duke. "And so do we. It is perfect!"
"It is! So without further delay, allow me to present this great new piece!"
So the King began:
Alas, poor Yorick! He knew of a ratio that fallow laid fields to rest. But so hateful a man that if, condemned by fate, I eat a thousand limes, to him, a thing of true delight that is! To run the gauntlet? Of course, for in his presence any punishment seems soft! And so he dies now—who mourns you? Who weeps? Who ceases their merriment now that we cannot suffer you any more? No one, now! They mock your misfortunes. Inadequate? Then watch now as in soulless effigy they burn you, and defile your corpse that, drawn and quartered, hangs in shame. May you laugh at that!
And they did. The Duke and Huck laughed and applauded, honored to have witnessed such a beautiful rendition of such noble and distinguished words. Jim laughed more nervously, worried that such a loud and dramatic speech might attract wild beasts. It was dark now, save for the light from the fire they had lit by the riverside. Yes, come to think of it, there was no need to worry; the fire would keep any wild beasts away. Jim began to relax, and soon joined Huck, listening as the King and the Duke planned the next escapade.
Huck soon grew tired; it was lazily warm and humid, and the finer details of the plan were rather tedious in any case. It must have been getting late, too, so Huck allowed the voices to fade until they became part of the background alongside the sounds of crickets and the river and the crackling fire. It wasn't too long before he dozed off.
Huck woke to the feel of raindrops on his face and the sickly odor of wet ashes. Rain? But my clothes are already soaked through; I must have slept through that, so what—?
As soon as Huck heard the gunshot, he shook off his stupor. He sat bolt upright, squinted through the pouring rain to see the Duke and Jim restrained by two unknown men as a third stepped over a body—the King? —towards him.
"Boy, I know you aren't involved in this. You can't be. So get out of here. Now!"
Huck knew the man's words were in earnest. He fled.
The man turned back to the Duke. "You and your friend there," he said, gesturing to the corpse, "are in some serious trouble. You've been wanted for years, for assault, theft, extortion, the impersonation of royalty, and general lawlessness. Now, it seems, you've been helping a slave escape. We have no time to keep an eye on criminal scum like you. So, we won't. We'll take the slave back to where he came from, and as for you? I've heard you presumptuous criminals like Shakespeare. So," and here he leveled his gun at the Duke's head, "goodnight, sweet prince…"
Bang!
"…and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."
A/N: The King's "Shakespeare" is a modified (read: totally destroyed and nonsensical) version of Hamlet's "Alas, poor Yorick" soliloquy from Act V, Scene I of the Shakespeare's play by the same name. The original soliloquy is as follows: Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fall'n? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that. The reference made by the unnamed man is to Horatio's farewell to Hamlet in Act V, Scene II: Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet prince/and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! I always thought that the King and the Duke should have an ironic death.
Comments and critiques are encouraged and welcome!