I watched the Baz Luhrman version of R&J for English, and loved how Benvolio was portrayed (I know this is sad, but I'm a fan of Shakespeare's. "Midsummer Night's Dream" was my favourite movie when I was 10). Benvolio, for those didn't notice, was wearing dog-tags and had a soldier's haircut, and he seemed pretty calm while fighting, unlike some of the others. And that inspired this little fic in his honour...
Disclaimer: Do you honestly think I'd have the brains to write "Romeo and Juliet"? No. Didn't think so. I'm just trying to fill in the gaps in order to give my fave Shakespeare character, good old Benvolio, some more airtime. In my mind, the play didn't do him justice. So shoot me. You'll be doing Shakespeare a favour.
This Is the Story of My Life.I found out today. Romeo is dead. He died for his love. Stupid boy, didn't he listen to me? Why give yourself away to childish, false illusions of some fantasy love when you had a whole life to lead?
He was young, and young men- though I guess you could still call him a boy- fall in and out of love too easily. I told him so. I was several years his senior, I knew about young love, which could so easily be confused with lust. Did he love her? The daughter of Capulet, who he should have hated so greatly, as our entire family did?
Perhaps.
I'd given up on love. There was no love in the world for me. I'd been in love once, but I'd realised soon that it was no more than an idle fantasy, tricks played by a foolish mind.
Maybe it was better that way.
It was fine while it lasted. It was sweet, good and pure. I loved her as she loved me. Or so I thought.
My father, Greg Montague, younger brother of my uncle Ted and a senior executive Ted's company, sent me off to the army when I was seventeen, as all the men in our family had before us. I was on leave when the Montague/Capulet feud reached it's bloody peak.
The feud had been there for years, of course. As a young boy of about Romeo's age I had gone along with it. But then I left, and when I returned the rivalry had been thrown into turmoil and hate which no-one seemed to be able to control.
The strange thing was that I didn't want the feud anymore. Maybe it was because I'd seen death before. I've seen friends die in pain and agony. I've seen true fighting. I've seen Hell.
And it's right here.
I'd learnt to show no emotions, to control my anger and hold back my sorrow. That was probably why I could keep my need for revenge at Mercutio's death inside me, and not let it escape.
I know what fighting truly is. I know what love truly is not. Yet no-one listened to me. My friends at the gas station didn't listen when I told them that the feud was none of their concern. Tybalt didn't listen when I told him to throw down his weapon and not start a fight. Romeo didn't listen when I told him that to be in love and to be in pain is foolish. No-one ever listens.
I know pain, and I know death. I used to know love. Pain, death, despair, hate, anger, revenge, guilt, murder, passion, lust, and maybe even a little bit of love.
This is the story of my life.
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Gees, that turned out worse than I expected! I apologise for writing such a bad fic. Don't flame, but please, do review.
